there the slightest probability that his fortune, or honor, or
reputation, or sisters will ever be disturbed by me. I am very much
obliged to you for your good intentions, and I wish you good morning."

"Don't, now, Miss Ivy, go so"--

But Miss Ivy was gone, and Mrs. Simm could only withdraw to her pile of
clothes, and console herself by stitching and darning with renewed
vigor. She felt rather uneasy about the result of her morning's work,
though she had really done it from a conscientious sense of duty.

"Welladay," she sighed, at last, "she'd better be a little cut up and
huffy now, than to walk into a ditch blindfolded; and I wash my hands
of whatever may happen after this. I've had my say and done my part."

Alas, Ivy Geer! The Indian summer day was just as calm and
beautiful,--the far-off mountains wore their veil of mist just as
aerially,--the brook rippled over the stones with just as soft a
melody; but what "discord on the music" had fallen! what "darkness on
the glory"! A miserable, dull, dead weight was the heart which throbbed
so lightly but an hour before. Wearily, drearily, she dragged herself
home. It was nearly sunset when she arrived, and she told her mother
she was tired and had the headache, which was true,--though, if she had
said heartache, it would have been truer. Her mother immediately did
what ninety-nine mothers out of a hundred would do in similar
circumstances,--made her swallow a cup of strong tea, and sent her to
bed. Alas, alas, that there are sorrows which the strongest tea cannot
assuage!

When the last echo of her mother's footstep died on the stairs, and Ivy