ere benumbed,
and she was only conscious of a dull, aching pain.

Two hours passed, and during these two hours Marie fought out her battle
with herself. When M. le cure missed her, he went to look for her at her
father's house, and not finding her there, the idea occurred to him that
she might be still on the pier. Returning, he found her. Laying a gentle
hand on her down-bent head, he said:

"My child, come home with me. You must not give way like this, such grief
is wrong, and--he is not worthy of it."

"Oh! my father," said Marie, lifting a wan, white face to his, "life is
indeed hard."

"Yes," said the cure, raising his hat reverently, and looking out towards
the cold, unfathomable waters of the great Gulf. "And, my child, there is
only One who can help us on that rough path."

CHAPTER VIII

TEN YEARS AFTER.

"Oh! wouldst thou set thy rank before thyself?
Wouldst thou be honored for thyself or that?
Rank that excels the wearer, doth degrade,
Riches impoverish that divide respect."

_Sheridan Knowles_

The morning-room at Glen McAllister was an ideal room of its kind, in a
rather plain and severe style. The floor was covered with dainty blue and
white straw matting, and huge rugs of musk-ox skin, from the wilds of the
great North-West of Canada, were scattered here and there about the room.
At a large desk, looking as if it might belong to a man with an immense
business connection, sat Lady Margaret McAllister. She was adding
accounts with a methodical accuracy and speed even a bank clerk could not
hope to excel. She was a woman of about forty, though looking younger,
her hair being of that tawny shade of yellow that rarely turns grey, and
her complexion bright and fresh, bearing witness to a healthy outdoor
life.

That morning she was very busy counting up the week's expenses, and
trying to explain to her husband that the conduct of their bailiff was
most reprehensible. Lady Margaret always used long words in preference to
short ones, which might express exactly the same meaning. This was one of
her peculiarities.

"Three months' rent for the Mackay's farm is due, Noel. I really think
you might bestir yourself a little to look after the estate. Jones is the
most execrable manager I ever knew. Here you are, with nothing to do all
day except smoke or shoot, letting things go to rack and ruin. We shall
be in the poor-house soon. Umph! I've no patience with you."

"No, my dear, you