CHAPTER XIII.

"WE met, and we parted in rudeness and grief,
But we loved each other beyond belief:

I lived in the garret and she in the kitchen,
And love was all that we both were rich in."

LATE in the afternoon of the day on which the incidents in the preceding chapter occurred, Molly Lawson sat in her straight high-backed chair, in the tidiest of all kitchens, busily intent upon her favorite knittingwork, while the clicking sound of the polished needles, as they flew in and out with astonishing rapidity, formed a pleasant accompaniment to her solitary thoughts. Bolt upright she sat, prim, precise, automatic in her movements, a maiden of some thirty-five summers, with here and there a crow's mark on her sallow face, and silvery streaks among her thin locks. Whatever claims to beauty she might have made in her younger days, none surely could have been granted to her fading years; but Molly had a heart, often hid, to be sure, beneath the sickly sentimental rubbish with which her weak head was filled; but after all, 'twas a heart which

could appreciate genuine worth and be true and loyal, if left to its own instincts. Like many other weak minds, Molly had a strong penchant for the marvelous; no story too wonderful for her credulity, no prophecy too absurd for her to question.

It was not strange therefore that when Esther Cram, in whose oracular power she had the most implicit confidence, predicted for her "a rich and gallant lover from over the sea," it should have shaken her allegiance to such a rude, uncouth person as John. But could he have seen what it cost her to repress her honest love for him, John would have pitied rather than blamed her.

Whether Molly had become wearied with waiting for her promised brilliant destiny, we can not affirm; but we do know that on the afternoon referred to, her heart was more than usually softened towards her old rough lover, and that often the renewed swiftness of her needles was but the response to quickened thought within. It was with the most intense satisfaction, therefore, that she saw the fortune-teller approach and enter her door.

"Laws sakes, Miss Cram!" she exclaimed, pushing a chair towards her visitor; "you don't know nothin' how glad I be to see ye. I was jest a sayin' only this mornin' to Judith Pease, 'Judy,' said I to her, 'what on airth do you s'pose has come o' that fortin'-teller? I han't seen her this age;' and Judy said as how she guessed likely you hadn't been in these parts lately; she'd heerd tell that you'd gone off, since your little gal

got to livin' 'long o' the Doctor's folks. But, goodness gracious me! what's the matter with ye? You don't look one mite like yourself;" and Molly dropped her knitting-work in her lap, to await the answer.

"If I don't look like myself," said Esther Cram with a smile the first Molly had ever seen on her face-"it only proves the intimate connection between the mind and body; for I am not 'myself' as you have always known me, Molly."

“Ma'am,” said Molly, with a puzzled, incredulous

stare.

"It isn't strange that you don't comprehend me," Esther Cram replied kindly; "I am changed, Molly, greatly changed, since you saw me last. I have been made to see and feel the wickedness of my life; and now, God helping me, I must try to repair some of the wrongs I have committed against my fellow-beings."

"Wal, I'm sure! if ever I did! Why, Miss Cram, you don't mean to say you've met with a reformation, do you?" Molly exclaimed in unfeigned astonishment.

"I don't know what you call it, Molly, but I have come to the determination to lead a very different life. I have been a poor, miserable, misguided woman, deceived myself and deceiving others; but, thank heaven, it isn't too late to repent."

"You an't goin' to give up fortin'-telling, be ye, Miss Cram ?"

"That I am, Molly; I've caused misery enough by that wicked delusion."

THE FIRST ACT OF REPARATION.

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"O Lud! you don't mean to say you don't believe in ," cried Molly, with an earnestness which showed how much she had at stake.

it now,"

"It is all a lie, Molly-a wicked lie; we can none of us tell what shall happen in the future."

"And you got my money away, and didn't tell me the truth after all! and I lost John besides!" Molly passionately exclaimed, holding her apron to her eyes and beginning to cry.

"Your money shall be returned to you, Molly, and you needn't lose John either, unless you choose to," Esther Cram replied encouragingly; "he has been constant and true to you through all. I am sorry I deceived you so, but even if I had the power to make my words true, you would never find a husband more faithful than your old lover."

"O dear! O dear!" sobbed Molly; "I never can look John in the face agin' as long as I live; I know he thinks I'm a desput silly gal; but I allers did like him, only I kind o' thought 'twould be so nice to have such a mighty grand husband, and so many new gowns and a carriage to ride in, and all that. 'Twas only yesterday I was a sayin' to Judy: 'Judy,' sed I to her, 'when I do get all them nice things, you shall come and live 'long o' me, and won't we be ladies then? somehow I don't care nothin' 'bout that now,

O dear!

if I was

only sure John didn't hate me. Judy said to me t'other day, says she to me: 'Molly Lawson, that are John

6

Hawkins worships the very ground you tread on;' but laws sakes, I know the men better'n she does; she han't never had a spark yet, and I've had-oh! I don't know nothin' how many-three sartin."

Molly's volubility provoked a smile upon Esther Cram's face. "You are in no danger of being left alone then, Molly," said she; "but let me advise you to become reconciled to John without delay, if he seeks it. Poor fellow! he has suffered enough now."

"If John Hawkins wants to make up 'long o' me, jest let him come and tell me so, that's all I have to say," Molly curtly replied, straightening herself up in her chair and making the needles fly again through her stocking; "but I must say I don't think much o' folks as spends their whole life leadin' their feller-critters astray, and then, arter all, comes rite round and tells 'em 'tis all a lie."

"I deserve your reproaches, Molly," Esther Cram mildly answered; "but you wouldn't think quite so hard of me, I know, if I should tell you all the cruel, bitter sufferings which led me on to such a life."

"Laws sakes, Miss Cram, I didn't mean nothin'; I'm kind o' flusturcated, that's all; I han't nothin' agin you now. Set down-don't be in sich a hurry; how's your little gal gittin' along?"

"I scarcely know myself; I have given Nell up to those who wish to teach her."

"I sh'd think you'd be mighty thankful to 'em too