"Will that be quite right, Veronica?"

"I must act according to my own judgment,
and the judgment of those who have
a right to advise me."

Maud looked at her in sorrowful surprise.
Veronica's tone had changed again
to one of haughty coldness. And who were
they who had " a right to advise" her?

"I think," said Maud, gently, "that any
one would advise you to relieve your father's
mind as soon as possible. Think what he
has suffered!"

"I will write to papa when he gets to
Shipley," returned Veronica, after a pause.
"And I believe that will be best on the sole
ground of consideration for him. I do,
indeed, Maudie. But now tell me about
yourself."

"There is little to tell. My great good
news you know already."

"Great good news? No.—Oh, stay.
You mean your engagement?"

"What else should I mean?" answered
Maud, while a bright blush came into her
pale cheek, and her eyes shone, as she
looked at Veronica, with bashful candour.

"Is it really such good news? He is a
man of no family, and ——"

"Veronica! Do you speak seriously?
He comes of honest people, I am glad to
say. But if he did not, he is he. And
that is enough for me."

"You never cared about your own
ancestry. But, then, Mr. Lockwood is quite
poor."

"Not poorer than I am," said Maud.
The next instant she feared that the words
might be taken as a complaint or a
reproach to Veronica, and she added, quickly,
"I never expected riches. I always knew
that I should be poor. I had no right to
look for wealth, and, as you said yourself,
I do not covet it."

"No; not wealth, perhaps. But look
here, Maudie; I shall come and put myself
at your feet as I used to do. I can talk to
you better so. It will seem like old times,
won't it?"

But the gulf that divided the old times
from the new, was forcibly brought to
Maud's mind by the fact that Lady Gale
cautiously fastened the door that led into
her bedroom, where her maid was sitting,
lest the woman should enter the
drawing-room and surprise her mistress in that
undignified posture. Further, Maud observed,
that Veronica, by sitting on a low stool at
her feet, was not compelled to meet her
eyes, as she had done when they had
conversed together before.

Veronica's rich draperies flowed over the
dingy carpet as she placed herself on the
footstool, with her head resting against
Maud's knees. Maud timidly touched the
glossy coils of hair that lay on her lap.
And her pale, pure face shone above them
like a white star at twilight.

"Now, Maudie," began Veronica, in a
low voice, that had something constrained
in its sound: "I don't want to speak
of the past year. You got my letter—
thanks to little Plew, poor little fellow—
although I did not get your answer. You
know the contents of that letter. They
expressed my genuine feeling at the time.
Beyond having left Shipley without papa's
knowledge, I consider that I have nothing
to reproach myself with."

Maud gave a little sigh, but said nothing.

The sigh, or the silence, or both, annoyed
Veronica; for she proceeded, with some
irritation of manner: " And I do not
intend to be reproached by others. Evil and
trouble came truly, but they were none of
my making. I was the victim and the
sufferer. I was entitled to sympathy, if
ever woman was. But throughout I kept
one object in view, and I have achieved
it. I shall be replaced in my proper
position in the world—in a position far loftier,
indeed, than any one could have prophesied
for me."

All this was inexpressibly painful to Maud.
Instead of the trembling gratitude for
deliverance from obloquy; instead of the
ingenuous confession of her own faults, and
the acknowledgment of undeserved good
fortune, which she had expected to find in
Veronica, there was a hard and hostile tone
of mind that must be for ever, and by the
nature of it, barren of good things. Maud
was very young; she had her share of the
rashness in judgment that belongs to
youth. But, besides that, she had a quality
by no means so commonly found in the
young—a single-minded candour and
simplicity of soul, which led her to accept
words at their standard dictionary value.
She made allowance for no depreciation
of currency, but credited the bank whence
such notes were issued, with an amount of
metal exactly equivalent to that expressed
by the symbol.

That Veronica, in speaking as she did,
was fighting against conscience, and striving
to drown the voice of self-reproach,
never occurred to Maud Desmond. She
was grieved and disappointed. She dared
not trust herself to speak; and it was
the strength of her constant, clinging