ed it
a dull, narrow life, and one hardly worth living; but the invalid would
have contradicted this.

Madge Broderick had learned the secret of contentment; she had lived
through great troubles--the loss of the husband she had idolised, and
her only little child. Since then acute suffering that the doctors had
been unable to relieve had wasted her strength. Nevertheless, there
was a peaceful atmosphere in the sunshiny room, where she lay hour
after hour reading and working with her faithful companion Zoe beside
her.

Zoe was a beautiful brown-and-white spaniel, with eyes that were almost
human in their soft beseechingness, and Mrs. Broderick often lamented
that she could not eulogise his doggish virtues as Mrs. Browning had
immortalised her Flush.

Olivia was devoted to her Aunt Madge; they had a mutual admiration for
each other's character, and her sister's child was dear to Mrs.
Broderick's heart, and perhaps the saddest hours she ever spent now
were passed in thinking over the young couple's future.

"I was wrong," she would say to herself, with a painful contraction of
the brow. "I said too little at the time to discourage their marriage;
if I had been firm and reasoned with the child, she would have listened
to me. Livy is always so manageable, but I was a romantic old goose!
And then she was in love, poor dear! And now--oh, it breaks one's
heart to see their young anxious faces! I know so well what Marcus
feels; he is ready to go out into the roads and break stones if he can
only keep a roof over his wife's head." And there were tears in Madge
Broderick's eyes as she took up her work.

CHAPTER II.

THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER.

"I at least will do my duty."--_Caesar_.

Young Mrs. Luttrell stood at the window one November afternoon,
buttoning her gloves in an absent and perfunctory manner, as she looked
out at the slushy road and greasy pavement. There was a crinkle on her
smooth broad forehead, and an uneasy expression in her eyes--as though
some troublesome thought had obtruded itself--presently the crinkle
deepened and widened into a frown, and she walked impatiently to the
fireplace, where a black, uninviting fire smouldered in a cheerless
sort of way, and took up the poker in rather an aggressive manner, then
shook her head, as she glanced at the half-empty coal-scuttle.

She was cold, and the clinging damp peculiar to November made her
shiver; but a cheery blaze would be too great a s