system wrong that gives one married pair so immense a superfluity of luxurious home, and shuts out a million others from any home whatever? One day or another, safe as they deem themselves, and safe as the hereditary temper of the people really tends to make them, the gentlemen of England will be compelled to face this question. * * * * * PAUL BLECKER. PART III. [Conclusion.] "Skin cool, damp. Pha! pha! I thought that camphor and morphine last night would cure you. Always good for sudden attacks." The little woman's stumpy white fingers were very motherly, touching Grey's forehead. "I promised Doctor Blecker you would see him in half an hour." "It is not best," the girl said, standing up, leaning against the mantel-shelf. "It is best. Yes. You say you will not consent to the marriage: are going with me to-night. So, so. I ask no questions. No, child. Hush!"--with a certain dignity. "I want no explanations. Sarah Sheppard's rough, maybe; but she keeps her own privacy, and regards that of others. But you must see him. He is your best friend, if nothing more. A woman cannot be wrong, when she acts in that way from the inherent truth of things. That was my mother's rule. In half an hour,"--putting her forefinger on Grey's temple, and pursing her mouth. "Pulse low. Sharp seven the train goes. I'll bring a bottle of nitre in my bag,"--and she bustled out. Grey looked after her. Strong, useful, stable: how contented and happy she had been since she was born! Love, wealth, coming to her as matters of course. The girl looked out of the dingy window into the wearisome gray sky. Well, what was the difference between them? What crime had _she_ committed, that God should have so set His face against her from the first,--from the very first? She had trusted Him more than this woman whom He seemed glad to bless. There were two or three creamy wild-lilies in a broken glass on the sill. The girl always loved the flower, because Jesus had touched it once: it brought her near to him, she fancied. She thought of him now, seeing them, and put her hand to her head: remembering the nameless agony he had chosen to bear to show her what a true life should be; loving him with that desperate hope with which only a woman undone clings to him upon the cross. And yet-- "It's hard," she said, turning sullenly away from the window.