e miss
her, Mrs. Lane."

"Ah, that we do," murmured Mrs. Hardcastle. "My knitting has been at a
standstill ever since the poor dear child's misfortune. I have been so
thankful her hands were spared. There's always some cause for gratitude
in every evil, after all."

"That's one way of looking at it," said Mrs. Lane, turning up the lamp
and drawing her work-basket nearer. "The Lord make us thankful for all
our mercies, but a misfortune's a misfortune, and I don't know as we're
called upon to look at it as any thing else. Won't you sit down, Mr.
Halloway?"

"Thank you, not this evening. It is nearly time for service. I only
wanted to know that Miss Phebe was doing well."

Mr. Hardcastle rose again to bow off the guest. "Sorry you can't stay,
sir. In spite of our difference of faith,--and how great it is I am in
hopes you will appreciate some day when you have come to see the errors
of the way you are walking in,--in spite of our material differences, I
say, you are always very welcome at any time. But pray don't let us
detain you from what you deem your duty."

"Mr. Halloway, a moment, please," said Gerald, rising as he was going by.
He stopped, and she came toward him holding out her hand. "I want to
thank you for your kindness of the other night. I believe I was
ungrateful and perhaps rude at the time, and I have not seen you since to
apologize."

"Pray do not speak of it!" said Denham, flushing a little as he took her
hand. "There was no occasion whatever for gratitude, and therefore no
possible lack of it. I trust you are quite well now."

"There _was_ occasion for gratitude," persisted Gerald, "or at least for
an acknowledgment of your kindness, and it is because I am ashamed of my
remissness that I take this first opportunity to thank you."

"You embarrass me," said Denham, laughingly. "I am not at all accustomed
to having public restitution made me in this manner, and especially for
purely imaginary slights. But may I not be permitted now--as a sort of
reward if you will--to inquire if you have quite recovered?"

"At least I have sufficiently recovered to retract my disbelief in
kitchen soap, and--and in your skill," she added, with a little
visible effort.

"You honor us above our deserts,--the soap and me," answered Denham,
playfully. "I don't know how deleteriously it may affect the soap, but as
for me I feel myself growing alarmingly conceited. So good-night."

"What a very elaborate apology," sai