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and recalling at random some of her father's few relations, said, calmly,

'Madlle. Thibaut, No., Acacia Row.'

'Oh!' replied Mrs. Bushel, a French lady! I thought you did not speak English quite like us,' and she smiled graciously.

The bare notion of her children having lessons from a real live French woman, fresh, perhaps, from Paris, raised Mrs. Bushel at once to a pinnacle of gentility she had scarce ever hoped to reach.

Marie begged a cab might be called, as she feared to return so late alone; and as Mrs. Bushel did not now suggest any fearful results from the indulgence of that extravagance, she took her leave.

'Well,' said Mr. Bushel, stroking the

head of his little Agnes, 'I don't know, but it's not very prudent. Eh!'

'Law! Bushel, you never have no faith or enterprise; she's a lady, and a sweet creature, and she shall teach these dear lambs French, and perhaps music.'

CHAPTER V.

AND Marie knelt in agonized yet thankful supplication.

'If I can but maintain myself awhile honestly, perhaps Guy will seek me out! Oh! Guy, Guy! why did you speak so cruelly, and yet you did love me? The greed for my supposed fortune could not have given your eyes such a light-your tones so much tenderness.'

After striving to fix some plan for the morrow, and struggling with the bitter

memories, the sad anticipations which

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crowded on her, she wept herself to sleep -the beloved name still on her lips.

The morrow broke bright and clearso bright that Marie felt fearful every one would recognize and brand her as a runaway wife; for to aggravate her sufferings, doubts would every now and then cross her, whether in acting on the wild impulse of wounded feeling she had done right. She knew she had not deceived Captain Neville. Ought she to have stayed by him, and lived down his suspicions; now could her wild scheme of disappearing for ever enable him to marry; or would it not inflict fresh injury upon him? But then how could she remain to eat the bread of a man who loathed her as

the source of his ruin? Banished from his path, he might think of her with tenderness and regret, and this alone was worth agonies to secure; present with him, he would view her with impatience and disgust, or at best with forced endurance, and to this death was incomparably preferable!

Who can say that she was not right? Our hero was but an average man, and average men are not often gifted with the generosity that can forgive an injury to dear self, however unconsciously committed, especially when the inflictor is within sight.

Separation especially if that separation involves the loss of something not otherwise attainable, may restore tenderness.

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