the happy, prosperous, uneventful lives of
the sisters to disturb--forces of inborn and inbred disposition had
remained concealed, which the shock of the first serious calamity in
their lives had now thrown up into view. Was this so? Was the promise
of the future shining with prophetic light through the surface-shadow
of Norah's reserve, and darkening with prophetic gloom, under the
surface-glitter of Magdalen's bright spirits? If the life of the
elder sister was destined henceforth to be the ripening ground of the
undeveloped Good that was in her-was the life of the younger doomed to
be the battle-field of mortal conflict with the roused forces of Evil in
herself?

On the brink of that terrible conclusion, Miss Garth shrank back
in dismay. Her heart was the heart of a true woman. It accepted the
conviction which raised Norah higher in her love: it rejected the doubt
which threatened to place Magdalen lower. She rose and paced the room
impatiently; she recoiled with an angry suddenness from the whole train
of thought in which her mind had been engaged but the moment before.
What if there were dangerous elements in the strength of Magdalen's
character--was it not her duty to help the girl against herself? How had
she performed that duty? She had let herself be governed by first
fears and first impressions; she had never waited to consider whether
Magdalen's openly acknowledged action of that morning might not imply a
self-sacrificing fortitude, which promised, in after-life, the noblest
and the most enduring results. She had let Norah go and speak those
words of tender remonstrance, which she should first have spoken
herself. "Oh!" she thought, bitterly, "how long I have lived in the
world, and how little I have known of my own weakness and wickedness
until to-day!"

The door of the room opened. Norah came in, as she had gone out, alone.

"Do you remember leaving anything on the little table by the
garden-seat?" she asked, quietly.

Before Miss Garth could answer the question, she held out her father's
will and her father's letter.

"Magdalen came back after you went away," she said, "and found these
last relics. She heard Mr. Pendril say they were her legacy and mine.
When I went into the garden she was reading the letter. There was no
need for me to speak to her; our father had spoken to her from his
grave. See how she has listened to him!"

She pointed to the letter. The traces of heavy tear-drops lay thick