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Fancy: The G

archaeology and a little girl, with whom he had made friends on board. About 700 people escaped and these two were both eventually picked up out of the water. When they reached the land there was no2 one le

ing books of their brothers. However, this made him decide himself to write a story for the little girl, which should be full of adventures. It was frankly a melodramatic story, a story of love an

h; but, as that might have made it hard to read, only a few old words and

was delightfully phrased; that is to say, for girls of thirteen and upwards and perhaps for g

bout the poor creature, herself, for was not his task the cure of souls? Not that Sarah Moulton was much of a mother; but perhaps any kind of a mother was better than nothing, and the poor child had loved her; yet, after she had received the viaticum, she had given vent to the most frightful curses on her neighbours. "If I cannot get the better of Janet Arnside in life," she had screamed, "I will get the better of her when I am

ould it be true that the spirits of the departed could plague the living? Of course it could not; and yet, somehow, he was not able to rid himself of the unwelcome thought. As he pa

the night? He crossed himself4 devoutly, however, and said a Paternoster and stepped through the wicket gate. "'Libera nos a malo,' y

to the left, but the figure came swiftly toward him. He wanted to run, but duty bade him refrain. His

nd finally a harsh voice said: "Is that you, Father Laurence? Ha! Ha

Father Laurence felt a little reassured, but she was not one whom any

not in your bed," he asked; "disturbi

horrible glee; "and she cursed Janet Arnside, did she? A curse on them all, every one of them. I wish she would die too; ay, and that slip of a girl that Sarah has left behind. What are you

iest sorrowfully, "and God will punish you one

d on, "and my curses go with you; but I stay here;" and sh

d; and much may it profit her! I wish now I had waited and seen what he did after she had gone; comforted that ch

y should I not go my own way? All my life they have been at me, ever since I was a little girl. My foolish old mother began it. Why should I not please myself? Well, she's dead anyw

ing the sick and all the rest of it? Let them die! I like them to die. Self-sacrifice and self-control forsooth! They say she is clever and well-schooled and mistress of herself and withal sympathetic. What's the good of unselfishness and self-control? No, liberty, liberty-that's the thing for you, Moll. Self-control, indeed!" and again the ghastly laugh rang through the night air. "Yes

at's where they laid you," she said, as she looked at the next place to the open grave. "Ah, but hate got the better of your

led it out. It was a femur of unusual size. "Yes, Oswald," she repeated, "and that's

y; ha! I was jealous and I hated you. Self-control and love;-no, no, liberty and hate, liberty and hate; and when you were ill I came to see you and I saw the love-light in your eyes. They thought you would get well. Of course you would have got well; but there you were, great big, st

Self-control! love! unselfishness! Never! And that child up at the Hall, Oswald, I must send her after you. I have just frightened Sarah dow

anny swiftness across to a newly made child's grave and began to scrape with her hands; but at that moment s

ag and shook it. It was full of gold. "Yes," she said, "money is a good thing, too. How little they know what 'old Moll o' the graves' has got,-old, indeed, Moll is not o

path? I was a pretty little girl once and you are not going to win the l