as a choking lump in my throat, and I could not have got a single
word out even if I had wished to. So I began scrambling the things back
into my desk, as hard as ever I could, and then I locked it, and put the
rusty keys back in my pocket.

"'What am I to believe now, Annie?' Mrs. Willis said.

"'Believe anything you like now,' I managed to say; and then I took my
desk and walked out of the room, and would not wait even though she
called me back.

"That is the whole story, Mr. Everard," continued Annie. "I have no
explanation whatever to give. I did make the one caricature of my dear
governess. I did not make the other. The second caricature is certainly a
copy of the first, but I did not make it. I don't know who made it. I
have no light whatever to throw on the subject. You see after all," added
Annie Forest, raising her eyes to the clergyman's face, "it is impossible
for you to believe me. Mrs. Willis does not believe me, and you cannot be
expected to. I don't suppose you are to be blamed. I don't see how you
can help yourself."

"The circumstantial evidence is very strong against you, Annie," replied
the clergyman; "still, I promised to believe, and I have no intention of
going back from my word. If, in the presence of God in this little
church, you would willingly and deliberately tell me a lie I should never
trust human being again. No, Annie Forest, you have many faults, but you
are not a liar. I see the impress of truth on your brow, in your eyes, on
your lips. This is a very painful mystery, my child; but I believe you. I
am going to see Mrs. Willis now. God bless you, Annie. Be brave, be
courageous, don't foster malice in your heart to any unknown enemy. An
enemy has truly done this thing, poor child; but God Himself will bring
this mystery to light. Trust Him, my dear; and now I am going to see Mrs.
Willis."

While Mr. Everard was speaking, Annie's whole expressive face had
changed; the sullen look had left it; the eyes were bright with renewed
hope; the lips had parted in smiles. There was a struggle for speech, but
no words came: the young girl stooped down and raised the old clergyman's
withered hands to her lips.

"Let me stay here a little longer," she managed to say at last; and then
he left her.

CHAPTER XVII.

"THE SWEETS ARE POISONED."

"I think, my dear madam," said Mr. Everard to Mrs. Willis, "that you must
believe your pupil. She has not refused to confess to you from any
stub