soever, 'hope on, hope never,' is my
motter, miss; and we must allus hope for the best, as the sayin' is."

"Just so," says Sir James, who doesn't know, in the very least, what
to say.

"A good wife, sir, I allus say, is half the battle; and that lady
up-stairs, she is a reg'lar trump, she is, and so devoted, as it's
quite affectin' to witness. Good-mornin' sir--thank you, sir. I'll see
to him, you be bound; and, with his good lady above, there ain't the
smallest----"

Sir James, opening the hall door in despair, literally pushes Clarissa
out and into the cab that is awaiting them. For a long time she says
nothing; and just as he is beginning to get really anxious at her
determined silence, she says, with some difficulty,--

"Jim, promise me something?"

"Anything," says Jim.

"Then never again allude to this day, or to anything connected with
it; and never again mention--his--name to me, unless I first speak to
you."

"Never!" returns he, fervently. "Be sure of it."

"Thank you," she says, like a tired child; and then, sinking back in
her corner of the cab, she cries long and bitterly.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

"Our doubts are traitors,
And make us lose the good we oft might win."--SHAKESPEARE.

"The day goeth down red darkling,
The moaning waves dash out the light,
And there is not a star of hope sparkling
On the threshold of my night."--GERALD MASSEY.

The morning after her unfortunate visit to town, Clarissa sends to
Mrs. Branscombe, asking her to come to her without delay. The secret
that is in her heart weighs heavily, and Georgie must be told. Yet,
now, when the door opens, and Georgie stands before her, she is dumb,
and cold, and almost without power to move.

"What is it?" says Mrs. Branscombe, suddenly. The sad little smile
that of late has been peculiar to her fades at sight of Clarissa's
grief-stricken face. She advances, and lays a hand upon her arm. "You
look positively ill, Clarissa: something dreadful has happened. I can
see it in your eyes. It is bad news. Dorian,--he is not----"

She puts her hand to her throat, and leans on a chair.

"It is no bad news for you," says Clarissa, faintly, "but for me." She
pauses.

"Are you in trouble, dearest?" says Mrs. Branscombe, sadly. "I thought
you the happiest girl alive. Is there nothing but misery in this
wretched world?"

"I was in town yesterday," Clarissa begins, with an effort, and then
stops. How is she to betray her