n; "she is all tired out
and I must let her go to bed. Standing on a pedestal is rather
tiresome, if it is gratifying, isn't it, sweetheart?"

"Yes," said Margaret, with a weary sigh from her heart. How little
the poor man knew of the awful torture of standing upon the pedestal
of another, and at the same time holding before one's eyes that
looking-glass with all the cross-lights of existence full upon it!

Margaret went to bed, but she could not sleep. All night long she
revolved the problem of how she should settle the matter with Annie
Eustace. She did not for a second fear Annie's betrayal, but there
was that matter of the publishers. Would they be content to allow
matters to rest?

The next morning Margaret endeavoured to get Annie on the telephone
but found that she had gone to New York. Annie's Aunt Harriet
replied. She herself had sent the girl on several errands.

Margaret could only wait. She feared lest Annie might not return
before Wilbur and in such a case she could not discuss matters with
her before the next day. Margaret had a horrible time during the next
six hours. The mail was full of letters of congratulation. A local
reporter called to interview her. She sent word that she was out, but
he was certain that he had seen her. The children heard the news and
pestered her with inquiries about her book and wondering looks at
her. Callers came in the afternoon and it was all about her book.
Nobody could know how relieved she was after hearing the four-thirty
train, to see little Annie Eustace coming through her gate. Annie
stood before her stiffly. The day was very warm and the girl looked
tired and heated.

"No, thank you," she said, "I can not sit down. I only stopped to
tell you that I have arranged with the publishers. They will keep the
secret. I shall have rather a hard task arranging about the checks,
because I fear it will involve a little deceit and I do not like
deceit."

Annie, as she spoke, looked straight at Margaret and there was
something terrible in that clear look of unsoiled truth. Margaret put
out a detaining hand.

"Sit down for a minute, please," she said cringingly. "I want to
explain?"

"There is nothing whatever to explain," replied Annie. "I heard."

"Can you ever forgive me?"

"I do not think," said Annie, "that this is an ordinary offence about
which to talk of forgiveness. I do pity you, Margaret, for I realise
how dreadfully you must have wanted what did not belong