“We have turned a leaf in the book of life,” his friend made answer, “and on the new page which now lies before us, we find it written, that in wise dispensation, not in mere getting and hoarding, lies the secret of happiness.  The lake must have an outlet, and give forth its crystal waters in full measure, if it would keep them pure and wholesome, or, as the Dead Sea, it will be full of bitterness, and hold no life in its bosom.”

IX.

Was it murder, or suicide?

“WHO is that young lady?”

A slender girl, just above the medium height, stood a moment at the parlor door, and then withdrew.  Her complexion was fair, but colorless; her eyes so dark, that you were in doubt, on the first glance, whether they were brown or blue.  Away from her forehead and temples, the chestnut hair was put far back, giving to her finely-cut and regular features an intellectual cast.  Her motions were easy, yet with an air of reserve and dignity.

The question was asked by a visitor who had called a little while before.

“My seamstress,” answered Mrs. Wykoff.

“Oh!” The manner of her visitor changed.  How the whole character of the woman was expressed in the tone with which she made that simple ejaculation!  Only a seamstress!  “Oh!  I thought it some relative or friend of the family.”

“No.”

“She is a peculiar-looking girl,” said Mrs. Lowe, the visitor.

“Do you think so?  In what respect?”

“If she were in a different sphere of life, I would say that she had the style of a lady.”

“She’s a true, good girl, answered Mrs. Wykoff, “and I feel much interested in her.  A few years ago her father was in excellent circumstances.”

“Ah!” With a slight manifestation of interest.

“Yes, and she’s been well educated.”

“And has ridden in her own carriage, no doubt.  It’s the story of two-thirds of your sewing girls.”  Mrs. Lowe laughed in an unsympathetic, contemptuous way.

“I happen to know that it is true in Mary Carson’s case,” said Mrs. Wykoff.

“Mary Carson.  Is that her name?”

“Yes.”

“Passing from her antecedents, as the phrase now is, which are neither here nor there,” said Mrs. Lowe, with a coldness, or rather coarseness of manner, that shocked the higher tone of Mrs. Wykoff’s feelings, “what is she as a seamstress?  Can she fit children?—­little girls like my Angela and Grace?”

“I have never been so well suited in my life,” replied Mrs. Wykoff.  “Let me show you a delaine for Anna which she finished yesterday.”

Mrs. Wykoff left the room, and returned in a few minutes with a child’s dress in her hand.  The ladies examined the work on this dress with practised eyes, and agreed that it was of unusual excellence.

“And she fits as well as she sews?” said Mrs. Lowe.