an example of it before you, my clear madam,
in the circumstances which have brought her
under your notice. I cannot even take her for
a little amusement under my own wing without
risk of some accident like this which has
happened. And consider how dreadful it would
have been, what distraction I must have
suffered, had she fallen into less kind hands than
yours."

The nun's face had been growing gradually
very grave indeed as this recital went on.

"I am sorry to hear this of the young girl,"
she said. "She has seemed to me good and
charming."

"Ah, charming she is indeed, madam!" said
Lady Humphrey, sighing, as if that were the
very worst of the whole story.

"And good, I think," said the nun, with a
gentle persistence.

"Good, yes, surely, in the main—I trust so,"
said Lady Humphrey; "but so charming, as
you say, and so impatient of control—alone, as
she must be when following her employment, in
London! Do you wonder at my uneasiness,
dear madam?"

The nun was silent for some moments, then
she said:

"Have you thought of any way in which I
may be of service to this child? I presume
that you have, since you have taken the trouble
to inform me of so much."

Lady Humphrey felt her breath a little taken
away. This nun would so bring her to the
point. However, it could only have been
conscience that made her so reluctant to speak
out; for surely there could be nothing
discreditable in her desire when it did come to be
stated, though without much of that circumlocution
which had been intended to accompany it.

"It is true," she said, boldly, "that I have
wished to be able to remove the dear girl to
some quiet country place, where she might be
able to support herself in respectability, and
also be removed from the dangerous excitements
which lie in wait for her in London.
And I confess, dear madam, that, knowing of
your generous sympathies, and also that you
have connexions in the country, I have been
presumptuous enough to hope that you might,
interest yourself to assist me in so placing her."

The Mother Augustine brightened at this
speech. Surely it held nothing unfair, could
have no ungenerous motive lurking behind the
judicious anxiety which prompted it. Perhaps,
indeed, the Mother might have thought within
herself, just in passing, that, had she been
interested from babyhood in such a girl, she
would not have been so eager to banish her
from her presence. But this unacknowledged
thought was in itself a little triumph for Lady
Humphrey, seeing that here was only a small
sin, and but a negative sort of misconduct, after
all, wherewith to charge a person of whom
many hard things had been said, and whom
even she herself, despite the remonstrance of
her charity, had not been able to meet without
a prejudice.

"I thank you, Lady Humphrey," she said,
warmly. "I am glad that you have placed this
trust in me. It is true I may be of use in
this way. I will do my best to find a home
for the poor child. But there is one favour I
must ask of you," she added. "I must beg
you to leave Hester with me, here, for a few
days. I shall the better be able to judge of
her temper and capabilities."

Lady Humphrey was not altogether glad of
this arrangement, but when so much had been
gained she must relinquish a part of her will,
must consent to run some little risk. And
the worst that could happen would be too
much confidence between the nun and Hester,
too good an understanding on the nun's part
of the foolish treatment which the girl had
received. And Lady Humphrey felt instinctively
that Hester would be somewhat likely to
use some delicacy in dealing with her
character.

And so, after having detained the nun in
conversation for some time longer, ingeniously
exposing the generosity of her own nature, and
quite as clearly insinuating the instability of
Hester's, Lady Humphrey at last made a most
reverent farewell salutation to the abbess of St.
Marks, and rumbled away in her old coach, out
of the quietude of Blank-square.

And when all this was over the Mother Augustine
sat thoughtfully in her little room; and
afterwards took her way into the garden to seek
Hester; and came gravely through the sunset
light, between the lavender and the rose-
bushes.

Vindictive, ungrateful, not to be trusted!
Our Mother Augustine's kind heart was
disturbed about her protégée. The lady, be she
what she might, had spoken wisely, and her
anxiety could scarcely be assumed.

If Hester were to prove wild, impetuous, not
easy to be controlled? If she were to get
herself and her friends into trouble wherever she
went?  What then?  Why, disappointment of
course, to those who had loved, and trusted in
her; disappointment but never despair. She
should fall seven times; and seven times be
raised up again.

THE NORTHENVILLE ELECTION.

THE GAME IS LOST—AND WON.

MY last move on the board ended in my utter
discomfiture. I had gone to a great deal of
expense, taken a great deal of trouble, thought
I had won the game, and only to find my king
in check, and the knight (Mr. O'Rind), with
whom I had fully hoped to carry the day, taken
by my adversary. I was by no means surprised
to learn that O'Rind had taken his departure
without looking me up, still less to read in the
papers that he was about to sail from
Southampton to join his appointment in Tansgoria,
where he been named puisne judge as a bribe
for not dividing the ministerial interests at
Northenville. It was on the Monday afternoon