whom she has discovered peeping into her letters. At least,
it was not in my nature. I, therefore, treated Mary with becoming
gravity, whenever we happened to meet. She, under the circumstances,
was ill at ease; and rather shunned contact with me. The morning
passed away, and the afternoon waned until towards five o'clock,
when the accumulating pressure on Mary's feelings became so great
that she was compelled to seek relief.

I was alone, sewing, when my chamber maid entered my room. The
corners of her lips inclined considerably downward.

"Can I speak a word with you, Mrs. Smith?" said she.

"Certainly, Mary," I replied. "What do you wish to say?"

Mary cleared her throat once or twice--looked very much
embarrassed, and at length stammered out.

"You received a letter from Mrs. Jackson this morning?"

"No." I shook my head as I uttered this little monosyllable.

A flush of surprise went over the girl's face.

"Wasn't the letter I gave you from Mrs. Jackson?" she asked.

"No; it was from Mrs. Jackman."

Mary caught her breath, and stammered out, in her confusion:

"Oh, my! I thought it was from Mrs. Jackson. I was sure of it."

"What right had you to think any thing about it?" I asked, with
marked severity.

Mary's face was, by this time crimsoned.

I looked at her for some moments, and then, taking from my drawer
Mrs. Jackman's note, handed it to her, and said:

"There's the letter you were so curious about this morning. Read
it."

Mary's eyes soon took in the contents. The moment she was satisfied,
she uttered a short "Oh!" strongly expressive of mental relief, and
handed me back the letter.

"I thought it was from Mrs. Jackson," said the still embarrassed
girl, looking confused and distressed.

"You can now retire," said I, "and when another letter is left at my
door, be kind enough to consider it my property, not yours. I shall
make it my business to see Mrs. Jackson, and ascertain from her why
you are so much afraid that she will communicate with me. There's
some thing wrong."

Poor Mary still lingered.

"Indeed, Mrs. Smith," she sobbed--"I didn't do nothing wrong at Mrs.
Jackson's, but wear her clothes sometimes. Once I just borrowed a
breastpin of hers out of her drawer, to wear to a party; and she saw
me with it on, and said I had stolen it. But, I'd put my hand in the
fire before I'd steal, Mrs. Smith! Indeed, indeed I would. I was
only going to wear it to the party; and I didn't thi