with, us till the morning, and then we would
have a private discussion before my father was
up, so that we might have a definite plan beforehand,
which he would not take the trouble to
interfere with.

I employed all my eloquence and arguments
in that discussion, pleading with Felicia to let
us keep the little waif, and Pim lent his voice
to mine.

"Who can tell whose child she may be?" I
said; "for I am sure she is no common child,
Felicia. See what a noble face she has. Are
there no marks upon her clothes:"

"None," said Felicia, who was examining
them closely; "they are worn and poor, Bessie."

She sighed heavily as she laid down the little
garments, and stood undecided for a minute,
watching me feed the child with bread-and-milk,
which the child was taking hungrily. "I will
be a mother to it, Felicia. God helping me, I
will be a better mother than the one that has
forsaken it, if that be true."

Felicia, usually so cold and reticent, fell
down on her knees before us, and clasped me
and the wondering child in her arms, murmuring
in a voice that only I could hear, "God forgive
the mother; God pardon the poor, wretched,
abandoned woman! God help my Bessie!"

Ever after, life wore a different aspect to me.
The monotony and gloom were gone. The child,
after a day or two of fretfulness, became a merry,
laughing, romping little creature, "gurgling,"
as Pim called it, about the old house, with a keen
enjoyment of the sounding, empty rooms. To
Pim and me she was a priceless treasure. Even
my father would rouse himself to take her
upon his knee, and let her fall asleep in his
arms, himself yielding to the dreamy lethargy,
which now always brooded over him with heavy
wings. Only Felicia, allowing herself but a
hurried notice of the child now and then,
retained the melancholy step and glance of former
times. We used to have long conversations
about her at night, when Pim returned from his
round; canvassing every conjecture that arose
in our minds, until the subject became the one
absorbing predominant idea of my brain. I no
longer avoided the main streets of my native
town, nor hurried down by-paths to hide my
poverty-stricken appearance.

It was a totally unlooked-for misfortune when
Pim fell ill, in the spring succeeding this
autumn; but the doctor who attended the almsmen
said a few days' rest would set him up
again if we could get a substitute for his work.
This consisted of a walk into the country of
about seven miles, with no very heavy load of
letter-bags; only a trustworthy and intelligent
person was needed. After many objections
raised at home, and some demur at the post-
office, I was at last allowed to take Pim's place
until he fairly recovered. I was young and strong,
and the walk in the pleasant spring mornings
and evenings with the long days' rest in the
country air, would be good for me. I said to
Felicia, the early hour at half-past five in the
morning, and the dusk in the evening, would
hide me from the curiosity of our townspeople.

But neither of these circumstances availed
me in the country, where I met with idle
querists who considered me a fair enigma offered
for their solution. Yet there was nothing
remarkable about me. I was common-place and
insignificant enough to go through my work
unnoticed; not like Felicia, who moved and spoke
like a discrowned queen. One woman
especially, a widow, living about two miles from
Tamford, waylaid and chatechised me so
rigorously, that in a little time I began to suspect
her of some sinister meaning. She was born
to excite suspicion. Such depths of dissimulation
there were in her heavy, slow-moving
eyelids; such fraud in the forced smile on her
thin lips; such lines of cunning on her face.
She was so humble, too, so affable and
insidious; and asked me impertinent questions so
delicately, that I found her worming out all the
little secrets of our secluded household. I
dislike to think of that woman to this day.

"I have a letter for you," she said one evening;
"a most important letter, and I wish to
see you put it safely into your basket, where
you cannot lose it. Not with the others, please;
I should like it kept separate, and posted
separate, so that you may remember it particularly."

I put it into my own basket to satisfy her,
and went on rny way homewards, very weary,
and thinking only of the rest by the schoolroom
fire, with Felicia and our little child. Pim met
me at the entrance of the town to take my light
burden from me, and as the child was with him
we walked on forgetfully and happily enough,
leaving him to proceed to the post-office.  Not
till I was luxuriating in my anticipated rest,
with Felicia waiting upon me and little Bell
busily unlacing my boots, did I remember the
important letter in my basket.

I recollect it lying there, in the brightest
light of our one candle, with the thick, marked
characters, unlike a woman's handwriting. An
idle feeling of curiosity mingled with my irritation,
and I took it up again to examine it more
closely. Beneath the thin envelope I deciphered
this sentence: "The child is safe enough, at
school with the daughters of a clergyman."

Such a clear, decisive clue I had never had
before. Mrs. Barnett's inquisitiveness, the
strange suddenness of her interest in me, the
familiarity and ease with which she had caugjit
the names of our little household, rushed
instantly upon my mind. I kept silence; and,
before many minutes of thought were passed, I
determined to conceal my suspicions from Felicia,
and from Pim if possible; for I had begun to
doubt his simple capacity, and I resolved to
follow out this clue myself. I would waver
at nothing that would tend to solve the mystery
of Bell's birth. Still holding the letter in my
trembling hand, I was rapidly coming to the
decision to detain it, when Pim returned, and
Felicia took it from my reluctant grasp, and sent
him away again to post it.

It is a hard thing to confess a crime; harder,