When she had read this letter she put it down in her lap. A soft, pensive smile stole over her face, and she murmured, 'My George, my George, my own George. My great-hearted, my noble love!' She read the letter again. Yes, it was quite right. Everything he said was perfectly true and just. He never could have made it so clear to her if he had been present, for she would only have heard the music of his voice; and although she would have taken for granted all he said, her mind would not have got so clear an idea of her duty as from this letter. Duty? yes, duty. She owed him duty now. What a soothing, what a peaceful thought it was that she owed George duty. She would pay him duty a thousand fold. She had told him she had given herself to him body and soul, and surely her duty was little to give when she had given these. He was her lord and master, and he should command her. The promise she had made to his mother was made under a mistake. If she had, at the time of making that promise, known the real state of George's mind, she never would have given such a pledge. She would now go straight to Mrs Osborne and tell her she had heard from George. Marie found Mrs Osborne in her own room. 'I have got a letter from George, Mrs Osborne.' 'Have you, my child? Where from?' 'London.' 'And what does he say?' 'I think you are aware, Mrs Osborne, that I know about Alice's visit to you yesterday. She told me you did not think it would be advisable matters should go any farther between us, while George remained unconvinced of his errors.' 'Yes, my child, that was my view. That is my view. What does George say?' 'Mrs Osborne, I find myself in a cruelly awkward position.' 'No doubt, child, I can appreciate your feelings.' 'And--and--and although I am very sorry for it, I think the best thing I can do is to leave this.' 'Did George ask you to leave this?' 'No; but I feel very awkward. I cannot explain to you, and I am not content that you do not know everything.' 'Has George asked you to disregard that promise you made me?' 'Yes. Unfortunately I made that promise to you under a false impression, and under the same false impression I made another promise to him, and he says I am not bound by either, they having been given under a mistake; but he says I am bound by a promise given to him before we came to Stratford.' 'And what is the promise given to him before you came to Stratford?' 'That nothing which might arise could make any difference between him and me.'

'Bournemouth, 7th March 1880.

'My Dear Mother,--This is to let you know in Cork, that I am now here, where you may send the yellow handkerchief I told you of last month. I am not any longer, as you know, in the employ of Miss Gordon, for there is no such person. She was married in London to Mr Osborne the day before yesterday, and she and her husband are now staying here. On the same day, Mr Osborne's sister was married to a gentleman named Nevill. The other wedding took place in Stratford, that dead-and-alive hole I told you we were a couple of days in. Mr and Mrs Nevill are coming on a visit here next month; but I believe the old lady, Mr Osborne's mother, is not pleased with the marriage of her son, owing to his having given up going to church, or something of that kind. You can send the handkerchief in a glove-box, they will give you one for nothing at any shop where they sell gloves. I enclose a Post-office order, my dear mother, for a pound. Buy with it any little comfort you may want.--I am, with duty, your loving daughter,

The End.

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COLSTON AND SON, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.

WARD & DOWNEY'S NEW BOOKS.

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