yes that filled and lips that quivered but never shrank,
that it was her last visit so long as her step-mother remained beneath
the roof, and he broke down and sobbed like a little child, but sought
not to dissuade her.

"Her mother's fortune," said the Mrs. Grundys of Fort Hays, was now her
own; but her mother had no fortune, and if she had, it would have been
shared by the two other children. In the old days her father had
laughingly bought and set aside for Marion's own account some government
bonds and some railway stocks; the latter at time of purchase being
practically drugs on the market. In fifteen years they were at a heavy
premium. When it came to parting, he had placed these bonds with all
their unclipped coupons to her credit at his banker's, and she was
mistress of a little fortune it seemed to her, which, added to the
liberal allowance he insisted on keeping up, gave her far more than she
could ever spend on herself even were her tastes extravagant.

She dressed richly; she would have nothing that was not of the best, but
she was never wasteful. It had been her habit to keep accurate account
of her expenditure, and to send her father a quarterly balance-sheet
that was a delight to his pragmatical eyes. He would have doubled her
allowance her last two years at school, but she would not agree to it.
She was in deep mourning and in sore distress, and money was the one
thing she had no use for. All the same he paid it to her account, as he
termed it, and in due time the money became her own. She had loved him
dearly despite his rough exterior and what she thought his lack of
appreciation of her gentle mother. But when he married the governess
before that second winter's snow had mantled the hallowed grave, her
soul rebelled in indignation and dismay. For a year her heart had held
out against him, and softened only when she saw that he was breaking
under the self-imposed burden,--a shrewish second wife. However, Mrs.
Sanford "held the fort," as has been said, and Marion, high-spirited,
sensitive, refined, and loving, was entering on her twentieth
year--without a home.

Was she pretty? Yes. More than pretty, said those who knew her best. She
was simply lovely. But alas for those to whom disappointment is sure to
come, she was a decided blonde.

A fairer, lovelier, whiter skin than Marion Sanford's was rarely seen;
her complexion was wellnigh faultless, her eyes were large, clear, full
of thought and truth an