you, Neta? And you will be kind to her?"

"Yes, darling, of course."

"Somehow, she used to think that--that you didn't love her," said
Merry.

"Nor did I," said Aneta. "But I will be kind to her; don't be afraid.
I think I can guess what is the matter."

"It is all very queer," said Merry. "She was in such splendid spirits
to-day; all the girls said so when they were out preparing for our
party, and now she looks years older and utterly miserable."

"Go to bed, Merry, and leave your friend in my care."

"Then you don't think it wrong of me to be very fond of her?"

"I do not, Merry. There was a time when I hoped you would not care for
her; now I earnestly want you to be her true friend. There is a very
great deal of good in her, and she has had many sorrows. Pray for her
to-night. Don't be anxious. Everything will come as right as
possible."

"Oh Neta," said Merry, "you are a darling! And when you talk like that
I love you more than I ever did before. You see, dear, I could not
help caring for Maggie from the very first, and nothing nor anybody
can alter my love."

Aneta kissed Merry, who left the room. Then Aneta herself, taking up
her candle, went out. She was wearing a long white wrapper, and her
clouds of golden hair were falling far below her waist. She looked
almost like an angel as she went down the corridor as far as Miss
Johnson's room.

Lucy Johnson was just getting into bed when Aneta knocked.

"What is it, Neta?" said the governess in a tone almost of alarm.

"I want to break a rule, Lucy," said Aneta; "so put me down for
punishment to-morrow."

"Oh, but why? What are you going to do?"

"I am going to do something which I shall be punished for. I am going
to spend to-night, if necessary, with Maggie Howland."

"Is she ill, Neta? Ought we to send for the doctor?"

"Oh no, she is not a bit ill in that way. Good-night, Lucy; I felt I
ought to tell you."

Aneta continued her way until she reached Maggie's room. It was now
past midnight. The quiet and regular household had all retired to bed,
and Maggie had feverishly begun to prepare for departure. She knew how
to let herself out. Once out of the house, she would be, so she felt,
through the worst part of her trouble. She was not unacquainted with
the ways of this cruel world, and thought that she might be taken in
at some hotel, not too far away, for the night. Early in the morning
she would go by train to some seaside place. From there s