“My first step,” answered Lucy, a hard note sounding in her voice, “is to destroy the last pages of my letter to Charlie. I had not brought ‘Mrs. Morison’ into it till Christmas Eve, so I can let it stand as it is up to that date. I see that I ended my instalment of the 22nd by writing that ‘Miss Latimer, Mr. Somerset, and Tom Black are to spend Christmas with me, and we shall all talk about you and send you our best wishes.’ This just comes to the very end of a page, so I shall put in half a sheet without a date with just my last messages. I will leave Christmas as in the future, where it was when I wrote that. What a mockery it is to read what I wrote on Christmas Eve!” She covered it over hastily, tore the sheet into tiny fragments, and dropped them into the fire. “Is this the first letter you are sending to your husband?” asked Miss Latimer, to give a turn to Lucy’s bitter thoughts. “My first letter—yes,” Lucy answered, “because Captain Grant was not quite sure where the ship would touch. But to every port where she may call I have sent postcards just assuring him of our well-being. Then, if he can call for those, he goes on with an easy mind, and if he can’t, why, there is really nothing lost.” “You have not heard from him yet?” inquired the old lady. “No,” said Lucy, “not yet. Charlie said he should keep a letter always in progress, and despatch it home whenever that was possible. I begin to look for one every morning now.” They sat in silence for a while, then Lucy said abruptly— “That poor woman! Her words haunt me! Perhaps, if she had not been left a widow, she would now be a respected and worthy member of society.” Miss Latimer looked up surprised. Lucy, who was gazing into the fire, did not catch the expression, but went on— “Did you have much talk with her? She came up from the kitchen crying. You had made an impression on her. But what will rouse her will? To-day she seemed to have no will—only wilfulness. And it was so awful to have to speak to a woman with white hair as I was obliged to speak to her—a woman who has been through trials and sorrows of which I know nothing.” “I had some conversation with her,” said Miss Latimer. “She was inclined to be confidential. But what makes you think that, if her husband had lived, she would not have been as she is?” “Because she said she got into the bad habit through living in loneliness and dulness with people who were inclined to be topers themselves,” answered Lucy. “One can understand how the temptation could come, and how gradually one might slide down too deeply at last to readily recover one’s footing.” Miss Latimer looked puzzled and hesitated.