be remembered only as a warning and a
shame! Not but that there was a little fringe of light on the skirts of
the dark cloud of Ned Taylor's career. There was, indeed, no joy nor
triumphant confidence at the last, but there was humble and penitent
hope.

Bradly and Foster were among those who followed him to the grave, and
listened with awe to the sublime words of the burial service. As they
turned to go home, Bradly noticed a female among the by-standers, whose
face he felt sure he knew, though it was nearly concealed from him by
her handkerchief, and the pains she manifestly took to avoid observation
as much as possible. She was one, if she was the person he supposed her
to be, whom he would least have expected to meet on the present
occasion; but he might, of course, be mistaken. That same evening,
while he was sitting in his surgery about nine o'clock, he heard a timid
knock at the outer door. He was used to all sorts of knocks, bold and
timid, loud and gentle, so he at once said, "Come in," and was not
surprised to see a woman enter, with her face muffled up in a shawl.

"Take a seat, missus," he said in a kind voice, "and tell me what I can
do for you."--His visitor sat down and uncovered her face without
speaking a word. It was Lydia Philips, the publican's daughter. She
was simply dressed; her face was very pale and sad, and she had
evidently been weeping, for the tears were still on her cheeks.

"Mr Bradly," she said, "will you give a word of advice and a helping
hand to a poor heart-broken girl? You and I don't know much of each
other, but at any rate you won't quite despise me, though you know who I
am, when I tell you my trouble, if you'll be good enough to listen to
it."

"Despise you, Miss Philips! No, indeed; I know too much of my own evil
heart to be despising any poor fellow-sinner."

"Ah, that's just what I am and have been," she exclaimed vehemently; "a
vile, miserable sinner.--You saw me to-day at poor Ned Taylor's
funeral?" she added abruptly.

"I did, miss; and I own it took me by surprise."

"Well, Mr Bradly, I want to tell you to-night what brought me there. I
know that Ned Taylor told you all about the bag, and the bracelet, and
poor Joe Wright's death, because once when I called upon him in his
illness, and found him alone, he said that he had confessed it all to
you to ease his conscience, and that I had nothing to fear, for you were
a prudent man, and would keep the story