girls, it was quite the other way. My father practically adopted
Frances Tremont. She was married from our house. But you see, Anna,
she made a better marriage than I. Oh, why was your father so
reckless? I warned him not to speculate in the rash way he was
accustomed to doing, but he would never take my advice. If he had, we
would not be as we are now." And again the poor lady was overcome with
her own sorrows.

It was not Mrs. Tremont's check that had bought the last Kumyss. In
fact, Mrs. Tremont, after the manner of rich relations, troubled her
head but little about her poor ones. Sanderson had sent no money for
nearly a month, and Anna would have died sooner than have asked for it.
He had been to Waltham twice to see Anna, and once she had gone to meet
him at the White Rose Tavern. Mrs. Moore, wrapped in gloom at the loss
of her own luxury, had no interest in the young man who came down from
Boston to call on her daughter.

"You met him at Cousin Frances's, did you say? I don't see how you can
ask him here to this abominable little house. A girl should have good
surroundings, Anna. Nothing detracts from a girl's beauty so much as
cheap surroundings. Oh, my dear, if you had only been settled in life
before all this happened, I would not complain." And, as usual, there
were more tears.

But the wailings of her mother, over departed luxuries, and the poverty
of her surroundings were the lightest of Anna's griefs. At their last
meeting--she had gone to him in response to his request--Sanderson's
manner had struck dumb terror into the heart of the girl who had
sacrificed so much at his bidding. She had been very pale. The strain
of facing the terrible position in which she found herself, coupled