"Poor Corda! You were very kind to me,
to forgive me for running over you."

"Oh no, no! I was glad afterwards, because
if you had not run over me, I should never have
known you or her." She moved her face towards
Mabel as she spoke, and the latter bent
down and kissed her.

"Now I must try to say what I want to say
to you, because poor papa is staying away on
purpose. Dear Miss Mabel, would you give me
some of that stuff on the table?"

Mabel poured a draught of some medicine
from a phial that the child pointed to, and gave
it to her. Then she raised the pillows so as to
support her in a sitting posture, and sat down
by the bedside, holding Corda's hand in hers.

"Mr. Charlewood," the child began, " I
found out the other day that you know about—
about—some letters that were written, and that
made me so very dreadfully sorry and unhappy,
that I could not rest until I had tried to do
something to prevent their hurting you."

"Dear little Corda, they had done and could
do me no harm. Do not let us speak of that,
my child."

"Oh, Mr. Charlewood, I must speak of it. It
is about that that I so wished to speak. If you
had not found out—I do not rightly know how
you found it out, but I guess that it was through
me—if you had not found out who wrote those
letters, I do not think that I should ever have
told you. I dare say I was very silly, but I had
the hope in my mind that I could make that
gentleman, Mr.——"

"M'Culloch?"

"Yes; Mr. M'Culloch know that you were
very good, without betraying—anybody."

"Poor little one!"

"Yes; of course it was very silly. But I
did not know what to do. And now it has all
come out. But what I wanted to say was this:
Mr. Charlewood, can people be punished—put
in prison—for writing letters like those?"

"Corda, if any such fear is weighing on your
mind, be at peace. For your sake, little Corda,
those letters shall be put away, and forgotten,
as though they had never been. And, further,
you may believe, for I tell it you in all truth
and seriousness, that they have done no real evil
to me or to any one, except to the writer."

"Ah, yes, to him! Thank you, Mr. Charlewood.
And now I want just to say one word
more. Miss Mabel knows—don't you, dear?—
how I love Alf. He has done wrong, I know,
and I know you have reason to be very angry
with him; but. if you. would try—oh, if you
would try, for my sake, to—to forgive him, it
would make me so happy! You can't quite
understand, perhaps, but Miss Mabel can,
because she knows how she should feel if it were
little Dooley, who was a grown man, and had
gone wrong, like my brother, how dearly I love
Alf. You know, Mr. Charlewood, my mamma
died soon after I was born, and Alf was only
quite a little boy, and poor papa was so sorry
when mamma died, that perhaps he did not take
so much care of Alf, nor seem so fond of him,
as he might have done if mamma had lived.
Alf used to be very good to me when I was a
little tiny weakly child. I remember when he
would carry me up and down stairs in his arms,
because I was so small and weak, and got tired
so easily."

Mabel bent down over the sweet pleading
face, and kissed it. Her tears fell warm on
Corda's chesnut curls as she did so.

"And, do you know," continued the child,
gazing up at Clement with earnest eyes, "do
you know, that when Alf was so successful,
and that rich lady made so much of him, and
offered to bring him to London, he said, all
the time, that he would take care of me, and
that if he grew rich I should grow rich too.
And it is only two or three days ago that he
was planning to take me abroad with him to
make me well and strong."

"I hope he loves you, Corda. He would be
worse than I have words to say, if he did
not."

"Oh, but he does; he does, indeed! " cried
Corda, eagerly; " and I wanted so much to tell
you so, for fear you should think that he had
been unkind to me. He is cross sometimes,
because his temper is passionate. But, now
that I am ill, you don't know how sorry he is.
He sits in the next room all day long, without
going out, that he may be near me when I want
to see him. And they say he looks so
melancholy, and scarcely speaks a word. If ever he
did anything to vex me, I know he is very,
very sorry for it now. And when I am gone
away he will be more sorry still. But, though
it grieves me sometimes to think of that, I like
to know that he is sorry, because, perhaps, it
may help to—to make him good."

Two large tears, the first they had seen her
shed, rolled down Corda's cheeks as she spoke,
and she put up her hand to cover her eyes,
and lay silent for some minutes. By-and-by
she looked up again, this time at Mabel, and
said:

"Dear Miss Mabel, you were always so kind
to Corda, and I loved you from the first day I
saw you, that I think you. will be good to poor
papa, if you can, for my sake. He may be glad
to talk to somebody about his little girl, to
somebody who loved her as you did——"

"As I do, Corda," broke in Mabel, weeping,
"as I do love you, my sweet good darling!"

"Yes, dear. But it will soon be over. And
then papa will be very lonely; and if you would
let him come and see you sometimes, and talk
of the old times, it would be very good of
you."

"I promise, dear child, I promise, faithfully,
to fulfil your wishes. But, Corda dear, perhaps
you may yet get better. You are so young, there
should be so many years of life before you."

The child shook her head gently. She smiled,
and the same far-away gaze came into her eyes
that they had seen there before.

"No, no; I am going to mamma. I am not
sorry—only a little sorry for them -- and I shall
be so happy with mamma."