she not answer it? What was it to her
whether she were called a servant or not?
This sounded like the very thing for her.
She could read aloud, and was quick at her
needle. And as to making herself "generally
useful," in her present frame of mind
she would hail any hard manual labour;
had she not often longed for it at Mortlands?
She was fit for nothing better than this;
she was not gifted or skilled in anything
whereby she could earn her bread; but
this she felt she might conscientiously
undertake. And with all her pride, she
had none of that particular kind which
would have made her hesitate to take
this step. Of course, it entailed an entire
severance from everything else in her past
life. Under another name, unknown, she
would begin a new existence; her mother
should hear from her occasionally, but the
secret of her hiding should be carefully  kept,
or she would be prevented from carrying
out her intentions; and she was now
resolved that she would leave no stone
unturned to carry them out if it were possible.
The chief difficulty that struck her at
the outset was the matter of testimonials.
How was she to procure such a one as
would be satisfactory to the advertiser?
Chance came to the aid of her quick
intelligence, sharpened as it was by the
craving to accomplish this thing. The
afternoon's post brought her the following
letter:

Bristol, Feb. 14th.

DEAR AND HONOR'D Miss. This leaves
Me well, as it hopes to find You. I have
got, Dear Miss, a situwation, but not such
as you think, and was looking after, for Me.
Mr. Joseph Hart, that is a carpinter in this
city, and a good business, has been visiting
at Aunt's of Sunday evenings, and him
and me is engaged to be married, Dear
Miss. He is a little fellow, but he is very
Respectable, if You please, Miss, and he can
keep me comfortable, which, and he says I
shan't have to do no work, but mind the
house. So this, dear Miss, is a better
situwation than ever I expected to get, and our
Bands is to be called next Sunday. And
knowing you will like to hear it, Miss, I
write this, and please to tell Mr. Miles with
my duty. And I am with affecte respect,
Dear Miss,

Your obedt. Servt,

MARY HIND.

This letter gave Maud real pleasure. She
was not so engrossed by her own selfish
troubles as to be unable to sympathise with
her little maid, in whose future she had
taken so keen an interest, and she sat down
and answered that letter on the spot. Then,
after a while, an idea struck her, an idea
which she at first rejected as unjustifiable
but which, on second thoughts (they are
anything but "the best" very often) she
deliberately took up again, argued its claims
to consideration, and finally adopted. This
was the making use of that testimonial
which Mr. Miles had written for Mary
Hind, now that it could be of no use to the
girl, and adopting that name as her own.
That this was a very grave offence, and one
punishable by law, certainly never clearly
presented itself to Maud's mind. In her
eagerness to solve a difficulty which seemed
absolutely insurmountable, she caught at
an expedient which, if not strictly right,
could at least do no harm to any one. All the
virtues wherewith Mr. Miles had accredited
the little school-girl in his certificate, would
he not have amplified upon them largely,
had he been writing of Maud? In the
character given there was no deception, only
in the name of its bearer. And what was
in a name? It was thus she argued with
her conscience, until she had persuaded it
to allow her to make use of the writing in
her desk.

She had time to write her letter, and
walk with it to the village post—she would
not trust to the prying eyes of servants
over the post-bag—and back again in the
dusk, before the first dinner bell had rung.
But John Miles caught sight of her from a
cottage window, and wondered what could
bring Miss Pomeroy to the village
post-office at that hour in the evening.

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PART THREE OF
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BY CHARLES DICKENS.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY S. L. FlLDES.

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