“I wish I were like you,” she one day confided, as she watched Mrs. Hampton at her work.

“In what way?” was the smiling reply.

“Nothing seems to worry you in the least.  No matter what happens, you remain perfectly unruffled.  Now, I am altogether different.”

“Perhaps I have my troubles, too,” was the quiet response.  “But I try to keep busy and not worry too much about them.  Perhaps you have too much idle time on your hands.”

“That may be so,” and Mrs. Randall sighed.  “You have a clear conscience, at any rate.  But I, oh, you have no idea how I have sinned.  I am sure that I can never be forgiven for what I have done.  If you knew what I have done, you would spurn me as one unfit to stay in your house another minute.”

“Does your husband know about it?” Mrs. Hampton asked.  She understood quite well to what this woman was referring, and only with an effort did she maintain her composure, although her heart beat fast.

“No, he has no idea of what I have done,” Mrs. Randall replied.  “I dare not tell him.  Oh, it is terrible to have to bear this burden alone!”

Glancing out of the window, Mrs. Hampton saw Randall beneath the tree.  She knew that some day the truth would have to be told, and no time seemed as opportune as now.  It could not be delayed much longer, she felt certain, and the sooner the revelation was made the better it would be.

“Your husband is all alone,” she remarked, turning to her visitor.  “Suppose we go and sit with him for a while.  I have some sewing to do, and it will be much nicer out there than in the house.”

Mr. Randall smiled as the women came and sat down by his side.  He was pleased to see his wife looking better than she had for years.  The city paper, which had arrived at noon, was lying unopened on a little table by his side which Jess had placed there to hold the books and cigars which she hoped he would use.  She had left him to go with John and the hired man into the hay field.  She was never happier than when out in the open, and John was always delighted to have her with him.  Their hearts were full of love, and the world seemed filled with peace and joy on this beautiful summer afternoon.

As the two women sat under the shade of the tree and talked, Mr. Randall listened for a while in a somewhat absent-minded manner.  At length be reached out his hand and took the newspaper from off the table.  He read first the financial news which interested him most of all.  Then he turned over the pages and glanced carelessly at the events of the day.  The various accounts of political meetings, murders, and local incidents had little or no appeal to him, and he was about to lay the paper aside when something caught his eye, which arrested his immediate attention, and caused an exclamation of surprise to escape his lips.

“What is it, Henry?” his wife asked.  “Anything special?”