his "little darling" had never heard a word of that plaguy temperance.

"But she has, Frank," said Mrs. Hamer, "and is

very

decided about it. I don't know how you will settle it between you."

"Why you don't suppose, mother, that Mary will be so unreasonable as to expect me to conform to her views in the matter! I shall not interfere with her whim ; she shall be welcome to carry it out to her heart's content; and I think she'll never wish to infringe my liberty."

"Well, you love each other too well to quarrel about it, I'm sure; and Mary is the most peace-loving darling in the world."

Frank kissed his mother for her kind words, and her praise of his beloved, and went to rest, at peace with himself and all the world. For had not Mary seen that he was able to practise abstinence when necessary? He need not have stayed at "The Hall" the whole evening if her presence had not had greater attractions than the wine. She must be sure of that.

HRISTMAS had passed very pleasantly with
William Lister in Edinburgh. Loving eyes and

hearts had watched the old year out and the new year in at the peaceful fireside of Robert Turner. Susan had given up her business; the small counter had disappeared, and flower-pots and creeping-plants decorated the bow window, in place of bonnets, caps, and ribbons. And Susan could devote the greater part of each day to her studies, dearer than ever, now that they were aiding to fit her to be William's wife. Her father had been better ever since the cold weather set in, and declared he was almost a new man. His work was once more easy to him, and he began to hope for many happy years to witness the felicity of his "childer," so he called Susan and William together.

William had often pondered Robert's words, spoken

at the time of his departure to Newburn. He had "something to tell him," and "it would be a long story." What could it be? William at last concluded that Robert meant to confide to him the history of his early and married life, of which Susan knew nothing, and on which, since William had known him, Robert had preserved complete silence. He was anxious to have this "story," before he wrote to his mother and sister on the subject nearest his heart; and one evening politely reminded Robert of his promise. But most unaccountably, week after week had passed, and there had seemed no fitting opportunity for the disclosure. Robert was not in the mood for much talk, or some other friend had dropped in and prevented it; or he had not "sattled" his thoughts as he should wish to do before entering on the relation.

Thus time passed till near the end of February. The weather was peculiarly mild, giving a foretaste of the spring that was to follow. Alas! the breezes so pleasant to the robust and healthy, filled Robert Turner's mind with fear and disappointment. He was suddenly attacked again by the malady which he had begun to hope was passing away, and which he felt certain that spring would renew in all its force. William, engrossed by some important business, had been several days without calling, and Robert became nervously anxious to see him.

"Susy, darlin'," he said one afternoon, "if Maister Lister doesn't call to neet, I could like thee to write him a little note an say I want to see him particular.”

"If you wish, father, but is it so important that you cannot wait till he comes ?"

"I've put it off so long, lass, both for his sake an thine, and now I mun lose no time, in makin' restitution."

Susan looked up in fear. She thought his mind was wandering; he had been very ill all day. Robert understood the look.

“I'm none wrang i' my head, darlin, but I've been varry wrong i' my conduct to thee. my conduct to thee. Aye, and thou'll say soa yet, lassie, and mebbe turn agean me for iver."

“What do you mean, father?" And Susan put her arm round his neck and leaned her head on his shoulder, looking lovingly in his face.

"I mean thou aren't to call me father ony longer Susy ;-I'm not thy father ;-that's what I mean. So it's out at last, Susy,-but dunnot hate me all at once, darlin!" As he wailed out the last words, in a quavering voice, the poor man burst into tears.

At this moment the door was opened and, to Susan's great relief, William Lister came in. He was much alarmed at the sight of her pale face, and the apparent distress of her father.

"I have come early to atone for my long neglect, love," he said as Susan approached him, "and shall

stay and drink tea with you if you'll have me, dearest."

Instead of replying to his salutation, Susan whispered something in his ear, and he came forward curiously regarding Robert, but holding out his hand at the same time. Robert grasped it in both his.

"I know what that darlin's been sayin to ye, Maister Lister; but shoo's wrang for once; I'm all reight here," and he put his hand to his forehead. "But shoo may weel think soa, Maister Lister; I've just been tellin her I amn't her father."

William's astonished look needed no words to enforce it. Robert pointed to a chair.

"Sit ye down and have patience, childer, an ye shall know all. It is quite a providence ye've come early, Maister Lister. I'll fulfil my promise now."

They seated themselves in mute surprise, and Robert settling himself comfortably in his arm-chair prefaced his story as follows.

"My dear childer; thank God me to spake out afore it's too late!

he has disposed It's been long on

my mind, an I've had to feight wi my conscience day by day, allus resolvin to do it to-morrow. I might ha died when ye were at whoam, Maister Lister; I might ha been cut off in one o' my drinkin bouts long ago, and carried my secret to the grave;-thank God!"

They did thank God in their hearts, though they could not speak. The words "I am not her father," still