Margaret dropped her face into her hands, and all the pride died out of her heart. "I was starving," she said. "I have not tasted food for twenty-four hours; and for a week I have eaten nothing but dry bread." Mr. Granger leaned quickly and took her hand in a strong grasp, as we take the hands of the dying, to give them strength to die. "I worked day and night," she sobbed; "and I only got enough to make me decent, and pay for my room. I have done all I could; but I was losing the strength to do. I have been starving so for more than a year, growing worse every day. I wasn't responsible for trying to take the morphine. My head is so light and my heart is so heavy, that everything seems strange, and I don't quite know what is right and what is wrong." Mr. Granger's sympathy was painfully excited. He was not only shocked and hurt for this woman, but he felt that in some way he was to blame when such things could be. He had also that uneasiness which we all experience when reminded how deceitful is the fair surface of life, and what tragedies may be going on about us, under our very eyes, yet unseen and unsuspected by us. "What if my own little girl should come to this!" he thought. "What was Mr. Sinclair saying to you up there?" he asked abruptly. She told him without hesitation. {48} "The villain!" he muttered. "No," Margaret replied sadly, "I think that according to his light, he had some kind meaning. You know he doesn't believe in any religion, that he denies revelation; yet you would not call him a villain for that. Why then is he a villain for denying a moral code that is founded on revelation? He is consistent. If God and my own instincts had not forbidden me to accept his proposal, nothing else would have had power." She sighed wearily, and leaned against the back of the carriage. "Promise to trust all to me now," Mr. Granger said hastily, "I am not a Maurice Sinclair." "Have I not trusted you?" she asked with trembling lips. "Besides, it seems that God has sent you to me, and trusting you is trusting him. I didn't expect him to answer me; but I called, and he has answered." Chapter II. A Louis D'or. With the exception of that perfect domestic circle not often beheld save in visions, there is perhaps no more delightful social existence than may be enjoyed where a few congenial persons are gathered under one roof, in all the freedom of private life, but without its cares, where no one is obliged to entertain or be entertained, but is at liberty to be spontaneously charming or disagreeable, according to his mood, where comfort is taken thought of, and elegance is not forgotten.