falsehood, would not have denied any wrong-doing of which he had been guilty, if taxed with it; but he would not scruple to conceal that wrong, or to evade the consequences thereof, by any means short of a deliberate untruth. His faults were those with which his father and mother had the least patience and sympathy, and those which needed a large share of both; had he ever received these, the faults would probably never have attained to such a growth, for he was in mortal dread of both parents, especially of his mother, and this, of course, had tended to foster the weakness of his character.

Poor Lena lay wakeful but quiet for hours, wondering and wondering what could be the matter, and what those terrifying words with which Percy's letter commenced could portend. And she, he wrote, was "the only one who could help him." She wished vainly for the letter, that she might know the worst at once; but she had no means of reaching it at present. Her feet could not yet bear to be touched to the ground, and she dared not wake Hannah and ask for it. Such an unusual request at this time of night would arouse wonder and surmise, even if Hannah could be induced to bring her the letter and give her sufficient light to read it. The old nurse would think her crazy or delirious, perhaps run and call her aunt and uncle. No, no; that was not to be thought of, the poor child said to herself as she lay and reasoned this all out; she must wait till the day came, and then she must contrive to read the letter when she was alone. Then she could decide whether or no it would do to take Colonel and Mrs. Rush into her confidence. She could not bear to think of keeping anything from this kind uncle and aunt, who had shown themselves so ready to enter into all her joys and sorrows, who took such an interest--so novel to her--in all her duties, her occupations, and amusements; who, with a genuine love for young people, were at no little pains to provide her with every pleasure suitable for her.

But--Percy--she must think of him first. Oh, if she only knew all that was in that dreadful letter!

But at last she fell asleep again, sleeping late and heavily, far beyond the usual hour. When she awoke, she insisted upon being taken up and dressed, although her aunt and nurse would fain have persuaded her to lie still and rest; and that done, her object was to obtain possession of Percy's letter without attracting attention to it. Being totally unaccustomed to anything like manoeuvring or planning, she could think of no excuse by which she might have the table brought near her chair, or the chair rolled near the table. The maids thought her remarkably fractious and whimsical and hard to please, but laid it all to the reaction from last night's hysterical attack. Do what she would, she could not contrive, poor helpless child, to come at the drawer of the table unless she spoke out plainly, which she could not do, and she had been wheeled into the nursery before the opportunity offered.

But here she found the way opened to her. Hannah, who would let no one else attend to her young lady's meals when they were taken upstairs, departed for Lena's breakfast; and after she had gone, Lena speedily bethought herself of a way of procuring Letitia's absence for a while by sending her down-stairs with directions for some change in her bill of fare.

Then calling her little sister Elsie, who was playing about the nursery, she sent her into her own room, bidding her open the table drawer and bring her the letter she would find there.

Elsie, a demure, sedate little damsel, who always did as she was told and was a pattern child after Mrs. Neville's own heart, discharged her commission and came back with the letter, which she handed to her sister without asking any inconvenient questions, and returned to her dolls in the corner.

Lena ventured to open the letter, knowing that Hannah, at least, was sure to be absent for some moments yet, and sure that Letitia, who was a dull, unobserving girl, would take no notice. She felt that she could wait no longer.

There was a few moments' silence in the room; Elsie, absorbed in her quiet play, took no heed to her sister; Letitia did not return, having stopped on her way back to the nursery to gossip with one of Mrs. Rush's maids; and Lena read on undisturbed, read to the very end of the letter.

Then she spoke to Elsie again, spoke in a voice so changed from its natural tone that the little one looked up in surprise.

"What's the matter, Lena?" she asked, coming to her sister's side; "is your throat sore? Oh!" scanning her curiously, "did something frighten you?"

Lena did not heed either question.

"Elsie," she said, still in that strained voice, as if it were an effort to speak, "put this in the fire, away far back in the fire."

"Why, Lena!" answered the child, "I'm forbidden to go near the fire. Did you forget that?"

Lena thought a moment, then said, with a strong effort for self-control, and still in that same measured tone:

"Then go in my room and open the small right-hand compartment of my writing-desk and put this letter in it and shut the door tight, tight again, and lock it and bring me the key. Quick, Elsie."

But again, influenced by conscientious scruples, Elsie objected.

"I 'spect Hannah wouldn't like me to go in your room so much, Lena; the windows are all open. She didn't say don't go in there, but I 'spect she thinked it, 'cause she always says don't go where the windows are open."

For the first time in her life Lena condescended to something like cajolery.

"And you will not do that for your poor sister who cannot walk?" she asked, reproachfully.

"Oh, yes, yes; and burned herself for me to save me out the fire," exclaimed Elsie, throwing her arms about Lena, "I don't care if Hannah does scold me; I'd just as lief be scolded for you. But your voice is so queer, Lena; you must be thirsty for your breakfast."

Taking the letter from her sister's hand, the child turned to obey her request, but was again assailed by doubts as to the course of duty.

"If Hannah or Letitia come, shall I tell them to put it away?" she asked.

"No, no!" answered Lena, sharply; then feeling that she must take the child, at least in a measure, into her confidence, she added, hurriedly,

"Hannah is not to see it. No one is to see it, no one; and you are not to speak of it, Elsie. Go now, quickly, and put it in the secretary."

Rather startled by her voice and manner, the little one obeyed and returned to Lena's room with the letter.

But now she fell into difficulties. The door of the compartment into which Lena had told her to put the letter was hard to open; it stuck, and Elsie vainly struggled with it, for it would not yield. Meanwhile Letitia, hearing Hannah come up from the kitchen, had hurriedly returned to her post of duty. She exclaimed on finding the door between the rooms open and a draught of cold air sweeping through, and hastening to shut it, discovered Elsie still struggling with the door of the little closet.

"Well, did I ever!" exclaimed the nursery-maid. "You here in this cold draught, Miss Elsie; an' what'll Hannah say, I wonder?"

"I want to put this in here, and I can't open this door," said the loyal little soul, refraining from shifting the blame from her own shoulders, by saying that she had come on Lena's errand. Letitia went to her assistance, but the door was still obstinate, and before the letter was hidden it was made plain "what Hannah would say;" for the old nurse came bustling in in a transport of indignation at finding Elsie exposed to the risk of taking cold, for she was a very delicate child. She rated both her little charge and her assistant in no measured terms, especially the latter, who, as she said, "had not even had the sense to put down the windows on the child." She snatched the letter from Elsie's hand, the little girl repeating what she wanted to do with it, and bidding her at once to go back to the other room, gave a violent pull to the small door, which proved more successful than the efforts of her predecessors.

"What's all this fuss about putting the letter away, anyway?" she said, glancing at the unlucky document. "Bless me, if t'aint from Master Percy, an' to Miss Lena! Well, an' she never saying a word of it. What's she so secret habout it for?"

Now Hannah's chief stumbling-block was a most inordinate curiosity, and once aroused on the subject of that letter, was not likely to be laid to rest until it had received some satisfaction. She turned the letter over and over, scrutinizing it narrowly; but there was nothing to be learned from the address or the post-mark farther than that it was certainly from Percy, whose handwriting she well knew. Had she dared she would have opened it; but that was a thing upon which even she scarcely ventured, autocrat though she was within the nursery dominions. Also, Lena was rather beyond her rule since the Neville family had come to Colonel Rush's house.

Elsie had lost no time in escaping from the storm which her seeming imprudence had evoked, and the nursery maid had followed; the little girl reporting to her sister that Hannah had taken the letter from her and was putting it away. Poor Lena found her precautions of no avail, and she knew Hannah well enough to feel sure that she would be subjected to the closest questioning. She must brave it out now, and she forced herself to face it.

"_I_ sent Elsie in there; it was my fault, not hers," she said, throwing down the gauntlet with an air of defiance which rather astonished Hannah.

"You know she oughtn't to go in that cold hair," said Hannah, sharply. "And why for couldn't you wait till me or Letitia came to put by your letter if you _was_ in 'aste habout it? There," mollified by the look in the beautiful dark eyes, now so unnaturally large and pathetic through illness and suffering, which Lena turned piteously upon her without answering, "there, there, child; never mind now. Heat your breakfast, my dear, for you look quite spent and worn out. Ye've got a setback by yesterday's doin's that'll last a week. Come, now, Miss Lena, take this nice chicken an' put a bit of