she
craved of joy and love--Lucian.

In her outraged heart there was no room for grief. She had heard her
dead mother scorned, and by him who, more than all others, should have
cherished her memory and honored her name. She had heard herself
bartered away, as a parcel of goods, and her very life weighed in the
balance as a most objectionable thing. Her happiness was scoffed at;
her wishes ignored as if without existence, and contrary to all
nature; even her liberty was menaced.

Slowly she turned away, and very thoughtful was her face as she went,
but fixed in its purpose as fate itself: and fearless still as if life
had no dark places, no storm clouds, no despair.

Oh! they were lovely, innocent eyes; and oh! it was a sweet, sweet
mouth! But the eyes never wavered, and the mouth had no trace of
weakness in its dainty curves. You have reckoned without your host,
John Arthur. It is no commonplace school-girl with whom you have to
deal. Madeline Payne possesses a nature all untried, yet strong for
good or evil. Intense in love or hate, fearless to do and dare, she
will meet the fate you bring upon her--but woe to those who have
compassed her downfall! If your hand has shaped the destiny of her
life, she will no less overrule your future and, from afar--perhaps
unrecognized, unseen--mete out to you measure for measure!

The grand old tree is sighing out a farewell. The sunlight is casting
fantastic shadows where her foot, but a moment since, rested. The
leaves glisten and whisper strange things. The golden buttercups laugh
up in the sun's face, as if there were no drama of loving and hating,
sin and atonement, daily enacted on their green, motherly bosom. And
Madeline Payne has put her childhood behind her, and turned her face
to the darkness beyond.

CHAPTER III.

THE STORY OF A CRIME.

Nurse Hagar was displeased. She plied her knitting-needles fiercely,
and seemed to rejoice in their sharp clicking. She rocked furiously
backwards and forwards, and sharply admonished the cat to "take
himself away," or she "would certainly rock on his tail." She "wanted
to do something to somebody, she did!" She looked across the fields in
the direction of Oakley, and dropping her knitting and bringing her
chair to a tranquil state, soliloquized:

"It's always the way with young folks; they don't never remember that
old uns have feelings. They run away after a new face, and if it's a
young one and a handsome one, they t