he begged me never to speak of it, as he would gladly give ten times that sum to one as faithful and kind to her father as you are.  Jack is a good fellow, and there is only one life between him and a, title, I hear.  Try for him, Bessie; I know you can get him.  Write him a little note and tell him how kind it was in him to loan me the money.  That will be a beginning, but you need not say how much of it I sent you; as he designed it all for you, he might not like it if he knew I kept half.  How is your father?  The last time I was home I really thought he was threatened with softening of the brain, he seemed so sleepy and stupid and forgetful.  Give him my love, and believe me always your affectionate mother,

    “DAISY McPHERSON.

    “P.S.—­I hear Lord Hardy has returned from Egypt and is expected
    here.  I am glad, for a sight of him will do me good.  He is the best
    friend I ever had, and the first, except, of course, your father.”

Such, in part, was Daisy’s letter, which Bessie read with an aching heart and cheeks which burned with shame.  She wanted money sadly, for her boots were giving out at the sides, and the butcher’s bill was unpaid, and her father needed wine and jellies to tempt his sickly appetite and keep up his failing strength.  But she would have gone barefoot and denied herself food for a week sooner than touch the five-pound note her mother had wrung from Jack Trevellian, her recent guest.

“It was begged; it is a charity; it burns my hand,” she said, as she held the note between her thumb and finger.  “I will not have it in the house,” and the next moment it was blackening on the fire where the indignant girl had thrown it, together with her mother’s letter, which her father must never see.

Oh, how for an instant Bessie loathed herself as she thought of her mother and saw in fancy the whole sickening performance at Nice, the daily jesting and badinage with those people around her—­second-class Americans, she was sure, or they would not take up her mother; but worst of all was the interview with Jack Trevellian, whose feelings had been wrought upon until he gave her ten pounds, because of her poverty!

“Oh, it is too horrible; but I will pay it back some time,” she said, and kneeling by the firelight with her hot, tear-stained face buried in her hands, Bessie prayed earnestly that in some way see might be enabled to pay this debt to Jack Trevellian.

In her excitement she did not then regret that she had burned the note, though she knew that it was a rash act, and that it necessitated extra self-denials which would tell heavily upon her.  With strong black linen thread and a bit of leather she patched her boots; she dressed and undressed in the cold, for she would allow no fire in her room; she never tasted meat, or tarts, or sweets, or delicacies of any kind, but contented herself with the simplest fare, and piled her father’s plate, begging