seeing you now," she said, "and indeed I
could not recommend her doing so at present. She sends you this letter
instead; do not read it now," for Mark was tearing it open, "but wait
till you can give it your calm and full attention."

Mark would have remonstrated, but Mrs Franklin's quiet decision
restrained him; he flung himself out of the house, and on reaching the
highway, burst open the envelope and read as follows:--

"Dear Mark,--We have always been friends, and I hope shall remain so;
but we can never be anything more to one another. I have solemnly
resolved in God's sight that I will never marry a drunkard, and I
never will. I was witness to your ill-usage of your poor horse the
other day, when you were intoxicated; I cannot forget it; my mind is
made up, I cannot alter it, and my dear mother entirely approves of my
decision. I thank you for your offer, and pray that you may have
grace given you to forsake the sin which has made it impossible that
there can ever be more than a feeling of sincere interest and
kindliness towards yourself, from yours truly,--

"Mary Franklin."

Mark Rothwell tore the letter, when he had glanced through it, into
bits, dashed them on the ground, and, with loud imprecations, stamped on
them. There was a fire in his heart, a mad desire for revenge; he was,
what drunkards must be, essentially selfish. Wounded vanity,
disappointed affection, bitter jealousy, were the fuel to that fire. He
had no thought now of remonstrance with Mary: he had no _wish_ to
remonstrate: his one great burning desire was to be revenged. He rushed
home, but found little to cheer him there. For months past a cloud had
hung over "The Firs," which had become denser and darker every day. And
now it was come abroad that Mr Rothwell was bankrupt. It was too true:
the reckless expenditure of Mark, and the incautious good nature of Mr
Rothwell, which had led him, under the influence of free living, to
engage in disastrous speculations, had brought ruin on the miserable
family. A few more weeks and "The Firs" was untenanted.

But, in the midst of all this darkness, there shone forth a ray of
heavenly light.

It was near midnight of the day when the sale of Mr Rothwell's effects
had taken place at "The Firs." A candle twinkled still in the cottage
of Mrs Forbes, for there was work to be sent home early on the morrow,
and neither lateness nor weariness might suspend their anxious