iss Eliza could have desired. A moment of chilling indifference on
the part of Adele had worked stronger repulse than all the harsh
rebuffs of the elder people; but of this the kind-hearted French girl
was no way conscious: yet she _was_ painfully conscious of a shadowy
figure that still, from time to time, stole after her in her twilight
walks, and that, if she turned upon it, shrank stealthily from
observation. There was a mystery about the whole matter which oppressed
the poor girl with a sense of terror. She could not doubt that the
interest of her old teacher in herself had been a kindly one; but
whatever it might have been, that interest was now so furtive, and
affected such concealment, that she was half led to entertain the
cruellest suspicions of Miss Eliza, who did not fail to enlarge upon the
godlessness of the stranger's life, and to set before Adele the thousand
alluring deceits by which Satan sought to win souls to himself.

Rumor, one day, brought the story, that the foreign woman, who had been
the subject of so much village scandal, lay ill, and was fast failing;
and on hearing this, Adele would have broken away from all the parsonage
restraints, to offer what consolations she could: nor would the good
Doctor have repelled her; but the rumor, if not false, was, in his view,
grossly exaggerated; since, on the Sunday previous only, some officious
member of his parish had reported the Frenchwoman as strolling over the
hills, decoying with her that little child of her fellow-lodger, which
she had tricked out in the remnants of her French finery, and was thus
wantoning throughout the holy hours of service.

A few days later, however, the Doctor came in with a serious and
perplexed air; he laid his cane and hat upon the little table within the
door, and summoned Adele to the study.

"Adaly, my child," said he, "this unfortunate countrywoman of yours is
really failing fast. I learn as much from the physician. She has sent a
request to see you. She says that she has an important message, a dying
message, to give you."

A strange tremor ran over the frame of Adele.

"I fear, my child, that she is still bound to her idolatries; she has
asked that you bring to her the little bauble of a rosary, which, I
trust, Adaly, you have learned to regard as a vanity."

"Yet I have it still, New Papa; she shall have it"; and she turned to
go.

"My child, I cannot bear that you should go as the messenger of a false
fait