"Well spoken, my son. How about Miss Bland?" "Of course she is going. We are to call for her." "A good girl--resigning pleasure to duty. A rare good girl." "Apparently, so, sir; but, indeed, I am impressed with the idea that there is something hidden about her. She does not seem natural," replied David. Father and son had just arrived at Mr. Fairleigh's when the door opened to admit a middle-aged, poorly-clad woman. Showing them into the drawing-room, the servant closed the door. Very soon after seating themselves they heard the voice of Miss Bland in a very excited tone. "My brother! How dare you ask me of him?" "I dare for my child's sake. She is ill--perhaps dying." "What is that to him or me? I told you and her I would have nothing more to do with either, since her name became so shamefully connected with my brother's. Will you be kind enough to relieve me of your presence?" "My daughter is as pure as you. Her child, and your brother's is suffering from want. Will you pay me, at least, for our last work--the dress you have on?" "How much?" was asked, in a sharp, quick voice. "Five dollars." "Outrageous! No, I will not pay that. Here are three dollars. Go, and never let me hear of you again." "Julia Bland, I wish the world knew you as I do. You will grind to the earth your sister-woman, and give liberally where it will be known and said, 'How charitable--how good!' I say how hard-hearted--how deceitful!" said the woman, in bitter tones. "Go!" came forth, in a voice quivering with rage. Soon the hall door told the departure of the unwelcome guest. Looks of amazement, beyond description, passed between the reverend gentlemen. At length the younger one said: "She does not know of our arrival. I will go into the hall and touch the bell." "Oh! excuse me, sir. I thought Miss Bland was in the drawing-room. I will tell her now," said the servant. Could this gentle, dignified woman be the same whose harsh, hard tones were still lingering in their ears? Impossible! thought the elder man. Surely he must be in a dreadful, dreadful dream. Not so David; he clearly understood it all, and felt truly thankful that the blundering servant had enabled him to get this "peep behind the scenes." The meeting was over, and they were just leaving the church, when: "Please, sir, tell me where I can find the preacher or doctor--and I've forgot which--maybe both. They frightened me so when they hurried me off!" said a boy, running up to them. "Here, my lad--what is it?" "Mr. Preacher, please come with me. There is a young woman very ill--maybe dying. They sent me for somebody, and I can't remember; but please run, sir!" "I will go. Excuse me, Miss Bland; father will take charge of you." And he followed, with hasty steps, the running boy. "Here, sir--this is the house. Go in, sir, please!" "Now, my lad, run over to Dr. Lenord's office--he is in--and ask him to come. So, one or the other of us will be the right one."