uprooted by a single blow, never to return. He might look yet for the bliss of a Hereafter that remains for the most heavy laden, thank God, but his sun of happiness in this world had set forever. The moon was not shining as it was the night he left Janey, when he left his farewell kiss. Oh! that he could have known that it was the last on the gentle lips of Janey. There was no moon now; the stars were not showing themselves, for a black cloud enveloped the skies like a pall, fit accompaniment to his blasted hopes and his path altogether was dark. But, as he neared the office of the doctor, he could see him sitting in his accustomed place. Charles thought that he would like to have a few minutes conversation with him. He walked to the door, opened it, and saw that the doctor was alone. CHAPTER VI. DR. BROWN EXPLAINS TO CHARLES. “Doctor, why did you not write to me?” the doctor brought down his fist on his desk with such force as to cause some of his vials to fall over and waste their contents; he had been bottling up his anger for some time against Mrs. Brewster, and this was the first explosion. “Because I understood that she had done so. I was there when the poor child asked her to do it. I found her on the floor in Mary Ann’s room; on the floor, if you will believe it, lying there because she could not hold her head up. Her mother had dragged her out of the bed that morning, sick as she was, and forced her to attend as usual upon Mary Ann. I got it all out of Eliza. ‘Mamma,’ she said, when I pronounced it to be the fever, though she was almost beyond speaking then, ‘you will write to Charles Taylor?’ I never thought but what she had done it; your sister inquired if you had been written for and I told her yes.” “Doctor,” came the next sad words, “could you not have saved her?” The doctor shook his head and answered in a quiet tone, looking down at the stopper of a vial which he had caused to drop upon the floor, “neither care nor skill could save her. I did the best that could be done, Taylor,” raising his quick, dark eyes, flashing them with a peculiar light; “she was ready to go; let it be your consolation.” Charles Taylor made no answer, and there was a pause of silence. The doctor continued: “As to her mother, I hope that she may have her heart wrung with remembrance for years to come. I don’t care what people preach about charity and forgiveness, I do wish it; but she will be brought to her senses, unless I am mistaken. She has lost her treasure and kept her bane a year or two more, and that is what Mary Ann will be.” “She ought to have written to me.” “She ought to do many things that she does not; she ought to have sent Janey from the house, as I told her, as soon as the disorder appeared in it. No, she kept her in her insane selfishness, and now I hope she is satisfied with her work. When alarming symptoms showed themselves in Janey, on the fourth day of her illness, I think it was, I said to her mother, it is strange what