odness; and a kind man, you'd have guarded your poor
Nina. Was it your fault that you were ignorant--and wanting in
goodness--and lacking in kindness? You did your best--, after your
lights."

Then she stooped and kissed him again. He was heavy from the drug she
had put into the wine, and did not stir. She slipped her hand softly
under his pillow.

"Poor old man, I am taking away your trump-card," she said. She drew a
thick letter, yellow with age, from under the pillow, put it into her
pocket, and taking up the candle left the room.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

RIVALS.

A couple of days after this Beatrice Meadowsweet received a note from
Mrs. Bell, asking her to call to see her. The note came early in the
morning, and immediately after breakfast Beatrice went to the Bells'
house.

Mrs. Bell took her into the drawing-room and shut the door behind them
both.

"Beatrice," she said, "I owed you a grudge, but that is past. You
stepped in, where you had no right to step, and for a time, I won't deny
it, my heart was very sore. I haven't sent for you to-day, though, to
rip up past troubles. I'm inclined to think that all's for the best. It
has pleased the Almighty to provide you with a wild mate--and my girl
with a steady one. Last night as the clock struck nine, Gusty Jenkins
popped the question for Matty, and all being agreeable, the young man
torn with love, and rock-like as regards character, Gusty and Matty are
now an affianced pair. Therefore, Beatrice, I say let by-gones be
by-gones, and may you have what luck can await you in the future with
that wild young man."

"I don't see why you should take away Captain Bertram's character," said
Beatrice, with some spirit. "You liked him very much once."

"I'm not saying anything against him, my dear. I mean not anything more
than the truth can bear out. There was a time when I thought well of
Captain Bertram. I'm the last to deny there was such a time, but
handsome is that handsome does, and when a young man had not the courage
to obey his heart's promptings, and when rumors will travel on the
breezes of extravagant, not to say naughty ways, I say, Beatrice, a
woman can't become blind as a bat when these things stare her in the
face."

No one in Northbury ever remembered seeing Beatrice in a passion. She
was acknowledged to be sweet-tempered, and slow to be provoked. On this
occasion, however, she was very nearly making the proverbial exception
to her general rule