abruptness, and showed her the skeleton that haunted this unhappy
family.

Going in one morning to Helen she found her walking to and fro as
she often walked of late, with hurried steps and excited face as if
driven by some power beyond her control.

"Good morning, dear. I'm so sorry you had a restless night, and wish
you had sent for me. Will you come out now for an early drive? It's
a lovely day, and your mother thinks it would do you good," began
Christie, troubled by the state in which she found the girl.

But as she spoke Helen turned on her, crying passionately:

"My mother! don't speak of her to me, I hate her!"

"Oh, Helen, don't say that. Forgive and forget if she has displeased
you, and don't exhaust yourself by brooding over it. Come, dear, and
let us soothe ourselves with a little music. I want to hear that new
song again, though I can never hope to sing it as you do."

"Sing!" echoed Helen, with a shrill laugh, "you don't know what you
ask. Could you sing when your heart was heavy with the knowledge of
a sin about to be committed by those nearest to you? Don't try to
quiet me, I must talk whether you listen or not; I shall go frantic
if I don't tell some one; all the world will know it soon. Sit down,
I'll not hurt you, but don't thwart me or you'll be sorry for it."

Speaking with a vehemence that left her breathless, Helen thrust
Christie down upon a seat, and went on with an expression in her