n his
hearty, good-tempered voice. "Not even her name, 'cept--what d'ye call
it?"

"Jessica," put in his wife. "I call her Jessie, sounds more homelike."

"And hasn't she told you anything more as to why she tramped out of
London?"

"No, nothing more," said his wife, "except that she couldn't bear the
crowds. I haven't asked her either, John. She's a good girl, you can see
that; and penniless as well as homeless. I should hate to send her to
the workhouse, or perhaps worse," she half whispered. "If she's got a
secret in her heart, we'll let her keep it, dear. Perhaps we all have a
little corner in our hearts marked 'Private,'" she added in a low voice.

"Excepting you and me, my dear!" said John, wiping his mouth as he rose
from the table, and coming round to kiss her.

She started again and paled a little.

"Of course, dear," she said; "I wasn't thinking of us."

"We've no secrets," said the good-natured grocer, as he took down his
hat and coat from behind the door. "Our hearts are open like them
clocks, with all the works outside, eh, Lucy, my dear?" Laughing at his
own simile, he kissed her again.

"If you'll take care of the shop," he went on, as he opened the door,
"I'll just run over to Richmond for those jams and things. Old Tucker's
cart is going over, and he'll lend me a hand."

"Get along, then," replied his wife, "and don't forget we want some more
spices."

"Right you are," said the husband, and with a wave of his hand to her he
went down the path, the two children running to meet him.

Lucy Ashford stood at the door and looked after him wistfully.

"Poor John," she murmured, as she went back to clear away the
tea-things. "What would he do to me, if he knew?"

Her thoughts went back to the great secret of her life. It was that
which caused her strange nervousness. She had repented of the past truly
enough, and no better wife could have been found throughout the kingdom;
but the secret had eaten into her life. She strove now to put it away
from her; for she knew she was in reality safe enough. Only her father
and Mr. Vermont knew--and the latter she had not seen for years.

Now, therefore, she put away her cups and saucers and called gaily to
the children, as they came running back. The girl who had been playing
with them came too; and as she approached the cottage she raised her
head and smiled. Lucy Ashford stooped to kiss the children, then said
kindly to Jessica--for it was indeed she: