nothing. At this rate she couldn't pay the expenses of the house; she was running behind every month; something must be done.

It was in vain I assured her that she was making money every month; that I was keeping her accounts with all the care I could, and that I knew there was not a cent owing, and a comfortable amount on hand. And that she ought to be very thankful to be getting on so well, when she was not able to look after things herself.

That gave her no comfort. Something must be done about it. I must put an advertisement in the papers. I remonstrated. It took from the dignity of her house to advertise the rooms; she had never done such a thing before. It would be a direct loss of prestige. Then I must write for her to the British Consul, and to one or two of her former patrons. That I engaged to do, devoutly hoping that they wouldn't know of anybody.

Those rooms once occupied, my plans must fall totally to the ground. Even if I could get a pass-key to enter from the hall into Macnally's rooms, I was not mad enough to run such risks. I never went into the other house, nor into any rooms but my own, and any servant meeting me on the stairs would have cause to wonder what had brought me there.

My pretty bubble danced along the ground; much as it pleased my fancy and soothed my dreary hours, I could but see how little chance there was that it could please and soothe me long. When Sophia got out of her room it would vanish, or, if the corner rooms were taken, it was gone. But the more fragile, the dearer it became.

A

CHAPTER XXVIII.

CONSTRAINED TO HEAR.

"Or is it over? art thou dead?

Dead! and no warning shiver ran
Across my heart, to say thy thread
Of life was cut, and closed thy span !

"Could from earth's ways that figure slight

Be lost, and I not feel 'twas so ?

Of that fresh voice the gay delight

Fail from earth's air, and I not know ?"

Matthew Arnold.

WEEK had passed. Every day I had been in

Macnally's rooms. By twelve o'clock they were in order, and the servant was out of them, and did not come near them again, till she came in to light the fire at five, before his return. I had full liberty, but I could not feel safe, or anything but agitated and uneasy. When my own rooms were locked, it was understood I had gone out, and no one was troubled as to where I went. As I was entitled to frequent the hall and staircase of the corner house, on my way to my sleepingroom, which was on the second floor, no one had cause for speculation if they met me there. Mr. Conyngham's notes and cards and letters were always kept by Buttons, and presented to him in a bunch when he had come in in the afternoon, and the rooms were rarely entered through the day.

The rooms had improved under my agitated hands. A stand of plants was in one window, an odd-looking

little writing-table in the other. A better rug lay before the grate; on the mantelpiece stood an odd India vase, always filled with flowers which looked at themselves in the mirror. On the other side of Macnally's little travelling clock I put a low brass candlestick with a red candle in it, and beside it a brass match-box with a serpent on the lid. His books increased every day, I put them in order on the shelves. I saw with satisfaction that he had taken more books out of his trunks, and added them to the others, and that he brought out a handsome inkstand, and seemed to be settling himself a little into place.

The table now pleased me. He dined on it, so all the things had to be taken off at meals, and therefore there could be but few. But the cover was rich-toned and soft, and a pleasure to the eye. The lamp was solid and simple; a couple of books always lay on it, the two or three I knew, by instinct, that he was reading, and a paper knife, a new magazine, and a bowl of blue cloisonné for the day's harvest of cards and notes of invitation. The table stood opposite the fire-place, the wide easy-chair between; it seemed to me there must be an alluring suggestion of quiet evenings, and easy, unhurried mornings.

The houses opposite were low; the morning sun poured in at the windows through the soft, pretty hangings. I took care that the lighting of the fire should never be forgotten in the afternoon at five. Mary was most trustworthy, but every morning, when I gave my orders, I reiterated, "Never forget to take up Mrs. Graham's tea at five o'clock, and to stop on your way and light the fire in the second story front rooms." I don't believe she ever forgot it. I often heard the crackle and the splutter of the coal from the corner

room, where I had paused to listen if my orders were strictly carried out.

I had strange feelings those stolen moments that I spent there, glancing at the books that he had just laid down, touching the chairs, the furniture that he had touched an hour before; smelling the scent of his just burned-out cigar; turning over the cards and notes that his eye had just passed over. They were strange, I cannot say happy, moments. I hated deception. I doubted sometimes if it were right or wrong. If it were wrong, it could only be as an injury to me, if ever any one should know. There could be no moral wrong, and for the motive that had moved me to it, and the hope that I had brightened even a few hours for him, I was willing to bear all the criticism that might fall on me, if ever it were known. But the constant watching against discovery, the constant agitation that contact with these inanimate things brought me, made my life anything but one of peace. I suppose my face showed my restlessness and damaged health. Sophia watched it narrowly and fretted herself worse every day about me.

The day of which I speak had been a very de ranged one in the house. Mr. Conyngham had begun the contrarieties by going out an hour later than his ordinary custom. That had disappointed the maid of the hour she usually gave to the arrangement of his rooms. Then Mrs. Graham, a very exacting young matron, who had the third-floor rooms, had had a luncheon-party, and had taken the time of all the servants she could lay hands upon. Sophia probably would have seen justice done; but I had no authority to interfere. At three o'clock, Mr. Conyngham's rooms were still untouched. At half-past three, the

maid rushed hurriedly through them; and at four, left them superficially arranged, and went to do the rest of her neglected work. The old lady who had the back rooms on the second floor of the corner house was enraged that the cleaning of her windows had been neglected on account of the irregular festival of Mrs. Graham. She sat all day with her doors open, to waylay the chambermaid, who had refused to come to her when she sent her word about the windows. While her door was open, and she was on guard just inside, I could not get into the corner room. I had some fresh flowers to put there, and a waste-paper basket that I had been embroidering. I was most impatient of her vigilant watch.

It was half-past four when the arrival of a visitor obliged her to descend from the watch-tower. I took the opportunity to go into the corner room, and through the closet to the other rooms. There I found more to do than I had thought; the maid had left things in very indifferent condition. I hurried through the arrangement of the flowers, and restored things to order as quickly as I could; but, doing my very best, it took a good many minutes. The room was a little chilly. I knew Mary was still up-stairs, for I heard her voice distinctly talking with the Grahams' waiter. The fire would not be lighted if I did not do it. I struck a match; in a few moments it was blazing cheerfully. I went to put the waste-paper basket under the little writing-table in the window; as I did it, I glanced out. The carriage that Mr. Conyngham always came home in was driving from the door. He was then already in the house. A fury of terror seized me. I sprang to the door and unbolted it, then hurried across the room, and got into the closet just as the parlor-door opened.