pon that speaking face.

Without a word Mary Crawford threw herself into Joe Harris's arms, then
slid slowly to her knees, holding her arms still around the stranger of
only a few hours before, now dearer and more precious to her than any
sister could ever have been. At length she recovered herself
sufficiently to thrust one hand into the bosom of her dress, take out
the note, and hold it out to Joe, with the pleading words:

"Read! read! do read and tell me what he has done!"

"Why, you dear girl, how agitated you are!" said Josephine, stooping
down and kissing her on the forehead. "This letter for me, and from
_him_? Stop--answer me one question--has he gone?"

"He has gone!" spoke the young girl, almost with, a gasp.

A veritable cry of joy escaped Joe Harris. Often defeated and not seldom
misunderstood, she knew then that she had succeeded in the boldest and
most erratic act of her life; and that moment of triumph was worth years
of ordinary existence.

"He has gone! you are saved! Don't cry or tremble, pet, for it is all
right--I know it! See here!" and she tore open the note with such an
expression of gladness as some heroine of old may have vented when she
rushed in with her father's or her husband's pardon, at the very moment
when the axe was depending above his head.

Josephine Harris's eyes had run rapidly over the brief note. She
extended it to Mary:

"See! it is as I told you!"

Mary Crawford clutched the note in her hand, staggered to her feet, and
attempted to read. But she only saw a few words--heart and brain had
been overtasked--and with a low moaning cry she sunk fainting into the
arms of Josephine.

The hurrying feet of little Susy responsive to Joe's sudden call--the
glass of cool water from the well that in a moment touched Mary
Crawford's lips and sparkled on her forehead--these were the things of a
moment. That which had a memory in it, worthy to endure for all time,
was the return of recollection to the young girl, and the fervency with
which she threw herself again into Josephine's arms, embracing her
almost painfully, and saying, over and over again:

"Oh, you dear good friend! God bless you! God bless you!"

Mary Crawford was back at home again within the hour, happier than she
had been for many a long day, and after a few moments more of earnest
conversation with Josephine, too sacred for revelation. It may be
believed that she who had gone so far for the young girl's happiness