e came home and confided what she had done to her husband. It is not
too much to say that he was displeased--that he was much hurt. The
Charlotte who in her too eagerness for money could so act was scarcely
the Charlotte he had pictured to himself as his wife. Charlotte was
lowered in the eyes of the unworldly man. But just because her husband
was so unworldly, so unpractical, Charlotte's own more everyday nature
began to reassert itself. She had really done no harm. She had but told
a tale of wrong. Those who committed the wrong were the ones to blame.
She, the sufferer--who could put sin at her door? Her sympathy for
Charlotte grew less, her sorrow for herself and her children more. She
felt more sure than ever that injustice had been committed--that she and
her mother had been robbed; she seemed to read the fact in Charlotte
Harman's innocent eyes, Charlotte, in spite of herself, even though her
own father was the one accused, believed her--agreed with her.

All that night she spent in a sort of feverish dream, in which she saw
herself wealthy, her husband happy, her children cared for as they ought
to be. The ugly, ugly poverty of her life and her surroundings had all
passed away like a dream that is told.

She got up in a state of excitement and expectation, for what might not
Charlotte Harman do for her? She would tell the tale to her father, and
that father, seeing that his sin was found out, would restore her to her
rights. Of course, this must be the natural consequence. Charlotte was
not low and mean; she would see that she had her own again. Mrs. Home
made no allowance for any subsequent event--for any influence other than
her own being brought to bear on the young lady. All that day she
watched the post; she watched for the possibility of a visit. Neither
letter nor visit came, but Mrs. Home was not discouraged. That day was
too soon to hear; she must wait with patience for the morrow.

On the morrow her husband, who had almost forgotten her story, asked her
to come and help him in the care of a sick woman at some distance away.
Charlotte was a capital sick-nurse, and had often before given similar
aid to Mr. Home in parish work.

She went, spent her day away, and returned to find that Charlotte had
come--that so far her dream was true. Yes, but only so far, for
Charlotte had come, not in shame, but in the plenitude of a generous
benefactor. She had come laden with gifts, and had gone away with the
hearts