her tired now.

Your affectionate cousin,
WEALTHY BOND.

The letter was addressed to Mrs. Murray at the Children's Hospital; and
at sight of it Hildegarde threw her arms round Martha's neck, and gave
her a good hug. Her private desire was to cry; but tears were a luxury
she rarely indulged in, so she laughed instead.

"Is it all right, Martha," she asked,--"really and truly right? Because
if it is, I am the happiest girl in the world."

"It is all right, indeed, Miss Hilda!" replied Martha, heartily; "and
the best thing that could have happened, to my mind. Dear gracious! so
often as I've wished for something to break up that place, so to speak,
and make a living house 'stead of a dead one! And it never could ha'
been done, in my thinking, any other way than this. So it's a good day's
work you've done, and thankful she'll be to you for it when the shock of
it is over." Then, seeing that the young people were still a little
"trembly," as she called it, this best of Marthas added cheerfully:
"It's like to be a very warm evening, I'm thinking. And as Miss Bond
isn't coming down, wouldn't it be pleasant for you to go out in the
boat, perhaps, Miss Hilda, and take your tea with you? There's a nice
little mould of pressed chicken, do you see, and some lemon jelly on the
ice; and I could make you up a nice basket, and 't would be right
pleasant now, wouldn't it, young ladies?"

Whereupon Martha was called a saint and an angel and a brick, all in
three breaths; and she went off, well pleased, to pack the basket,
leaving great joy behind her.

Late that evening, when Hildegarde was going to bed, she saw the door of
Miss Wealthy's room ajar, and heard her name called softly. She went in,
and found the dear old lady sitting in her great white dimity armchair.

"Come here, my dear," said Miss Wealthy, gently. "I have something to
show you, which I think you will like to see."

She had a miniature in her hand,--the portrait of a young and handsome
man, with flashing dark eyes, and a noble, thoughtful face.

"It is my Victor!" said the old lady, tenderly. "I am an old woman, but
he is always my true love, young and beautiful. Look at it, my child! It
is the face of a good and true man."

"You do not mind my knowing?" Hildegarde asked, kissing the soft,
wrinkled hand.

"I am very glad of it," replied Miss Wealthy,--"very glad! And in--in a
little while--when I have