ed as they made their way down-stairs,
hand in hand. Then all at once she drew in her breath sharply,
catching her under lip between her teeth. On the bottom step she
stopped short and, putting her hands on Alma's shoulder, swung her
about so that she could look into her eyes. Her own were very bright.

"What is it?" asked Alma; then, for some reason, she colored and turned
her eyes away.

"I know now where I saw that book myself, Alma," said Nancy.

"Nancy!" Alma's blue eyes now suddenly filled with tears. "Oh,
Nancy--you won't say anything. No, no, you didn't see it. Please
don't believe that of her."

"Two Sundays ago when I was talking to you--I noticed it in the
bookcase in your room. I kept reading the titles on the books when
I--you know the way you do when you're worried. It stood between a
copy of 'Bryce's Commonwealth' and a French grammar----"

"Nancy, you mustn't say anything, do you hear?" insisted Alma,
beseechingly.

"I won't say anything. But--but I'm going to--you go on to class. I
tell you, I won't say anything. Oh, Alma, you darling! Go on to
class, I say."

"Nancy, what are you going to do?" demanded Alma, as Nancy broke away
from her and ran up the stairs again. "You aren't going to Miss
Leland?"

"No, I'm not. There, isn't that the postman? You might as well see if
there's anything for us before you go to French."

Alma walked down the hall toward the front door, where the maid was
taking the noon mail from the postman. Nancy stood waiting, half-way
up the stairs, evidently lost in thoughts which were not very pleasant,
for her brown eyes sparkled with suppressed indignation and contempt,
and once or twice she pressed her lips together tightly, as she always
did when she was trying to make herself look calmer than she felt.

"Here's a letter from Mother," said Alma, coming back with an envelope
in her hand. "I can't read it now, so you take it and save it for me."
Nancy leaned over and took it from her.

"I--I may not see you until to-night," she said, slipping the letter
into the pocket of her skirt. "You know you can trust me to hold my
tongue, well--quite as well as she can, and she holds hers very well
indeed. Do you mind being stared at and whispered about?"

Alma only smiled, then, with a little toss of her head, made a right
about face, marched off, chin up, to brave the battery of glancing eyes
and whispering tongues alone.

CHAPTER XIII

NANCY H