r friendship; no, not if to serve them my
heart's blood must become wormwood and gall."

She re-read all her letters, but would not allow herself to linger too
long over that of Clarence Vaughan. She had resolved to have no more
weakness, no more outbreaks of passion. She was very stern with
herself. Even as a friend and brother, she would not allow her
thoughts to dwell too much upon him, until she grew stronger, and more
perfect in her renunciation.

Then she sat down at her humble little table, and answered her
letters.

To Olive she wrote a sweet, cheery note, telling of her gratitude, her
affection, her hope for the future; and then she added a womanlike P.
S. as follows:

Please say to Doctor Vaughan that I will be at Hagar's
cottage on Monday evening, but can't tell the precise time I
may be able to appear. If he follows the main road through
the village, until he has passed the grounds of Oakley, he
will have no difficulty in finding the cottage. It stands
alone, almost in the middle of a field, facing the west, and
is the first habitation after Oakley.

"I cannot write to him," she said; "at least not now."

Then she wrote Claire a long, cheery letter, saying little of herself,
and much of her friends,--of all save Doctor Vaughan. She _would_ not
mention him tenderly, she _could_ not mention him lightly; so she
would say of him nothing at all.

But if Madeline was astute, Claire, too, was beginning to develop that
quality. So when the latter young lady read this letter, she smiled
and said: "The dear little hypocrite! As if she could deceive me by
this evidently studied neglect. Oh! you proud, stiff-necked, little
detective!"

And their game of cross purposes went on.

Madeline had sealed her letters, and was about to reach for her hat
preparatory to hastening with them to the post office, when her
attention was arrested by a sound, slight but unusual, and not far
away. She stood erect, silent, motionless, listening intently.
Presently the sound was repeated, and then a look of intelligence
passed over the girl's face.

"Some one is in the deserted rooms," she thought. And she abandoned
for the present her purpose of going out.

There was but one way to approach the closed-up rooms, and that way
led past the door of Madeline's room.

A few paces beyond her door, the hall connecting the west wing with
the more modern portion, made a sharp curve and opened into