misery, in the other tinged with bitterness, and a
feeling new to her--anger against the author of her pain.

Thus the days glided by, with Netta lying dangerously ill, too weak to
be moved. Richard was over a dozen times a day, asking after her
health, and he had insisted upon Mrs Lane taking money for the
necessities of the case. Then came a day when a fly stopped at the
door; and Richard from his window, expecting to see a fresh doctor, saw
a quiet-looking man step out, enter, stay a quarter of an hour, and then
return; and when, an hour later, he went over himself, it was to find
Mrs Lane deeply agitated, and with traces of tears upon her face; but
she made no confidant of him.

At last, while he was sitting writing one day, there came a letter for
him, with Frank Pratt for bearer. It had come to his chambers by post,
he said, enclosed in another, asking him to forward it.

Frank went away as soon as he had delivered it, seeming troubled; and on
Richard opening the note, he found these words:--

"I think it right to tell you what you have done, though no one knows
that I have written. I did trust you, Richard Trevor; for I thought
you a true, good man, who would be as faithful to my dear sister as
she would have been to you. If any one had told me you would give her
up directly for somebody else, I could have struck him. But I'll tell
you what you've done, for you ought to know it for your punishment:
you've broken the heart of the dearest, sweetest sister that ever
lived, and I hate you with all mine.

"Fin Rea.

"P.S.--Tiny's very ill, almost seriously, and all through you."

He had hardly read the note a second time, when Mrs Fiddison came in
dolefully, to say that Mrs Jenkles wanted to speak to him; and upon
that lady being admitted, it was to say, with a curtsey--

"If you please, sir, Mrs Lane says Miss Netta has been begging for you
to be sent for, if you'd come."

Richard rose to follow the messenger, who said, softly--

"You must be very quiet, sir, for she's greatly changed."

Volume 3, Chapter XI.

IN THE SQUARE CALLED RUSSELL.

There's plenty of room in Russell Square for a walk, without the
promenaders being seen by those without, either in the houses or on the
pavement.

Russell Square had grown very attractive to Frank Pratt of late, and he
used to smoke cigars there at all sorts of hours. He had been seen by
the milk there at 6:15, railway time; Z 17 had g