lydia purcell had hitherto been an honest woman. now, in resolving to keep the purse, she but yielded to a further stage of that insidious malady which for so long had been finding ample growth in her moral and spiritual nature. she did not, however, know that the purse was cecile's. the child's agony, and even terror, she put down with considerable alacrity to an evil conscience. how would it be possible for all that money to belong to a little creature like cecile?

lydia's real thought with regard to the russia-leather purse was that it belonged to old mrs. bell—that it had been put into the little tin box, and, unknown to anyone, had got swept away as so much lumber in the attic. cecile, poking about, had found it, and had made up her mind to keep it: hence her distress.

lydia had really many years ago lost a purse, about which the servants on the farm had heard her talk. it darted into her head to claim this purse, full of all its sweet treasure, as her own lost property. there was foundation to her tale. the servants would have no reason not to believe her.

mrs. bell's heir was turning her out. she would avenge herself in this way on him. she would keep the money which he might lawfully claim. thus she would once more lay by a nest-egg for a rainy day.

sitting in her own room, the door locked behind her, and counting the precious money, lydia had made up her mind to do this. it was so easy to become a thief—detection would be impossible. yes; she knew in her heart of hearts she was stealing, but looking at the delightful color of the gold—feeling the crisp banknotes—she did not think it very wrong to steal.

she was in an exultant frame of mind when she went down to supper. when jane appeared she was glad to talk to her.

she little knew that jane was about to open the sore, sore place in her heart, to probe roughly that wound that seemed as if it would never heal.

when jane left her, she was really trembling with agitation and terror. another, then, knew her secret. if that was so, it might any day be made plain to the world that she had caused the death of the only creature she loved.

lydia was so upset that the purse, with its gold and notes, became for the time of no interest to her.

there was but one remedy for her woes. she must sleep. she knew, alas! that brandy would make her sleep.

just before she laid her head on her pillow, she so far remembered the purse as to take it out of her pocket, and hold it in her hand. she thought the feel of the precious gold would comfort her.

jane found it no difficult task to remove the purse from her nerveless fingers. when she awoke in the morning, it was gone.

lydia had, however, scarcely time to realize her loss, scarcely time to try if it had slipped under the bedclothes, before jane parsons, with her bonnet and cloak still on, walked into the room. she came straight up to the bed, stood close to lydia, and spoke:

"you will wonder where i have been, and what i have been doing? i have been seeing the children, cecile and maurice d'albert, and their dog toby, off to london. before they went, i gave the leather purse back to cecile. it was not your purse, nor a bit like it. i took it out of your hand when you were asleep. there were forty pounds in banknotes, ten-pound banknotes, in the purse, and there were fifteen pounds in gold. your sister mrs. d'albert had given this money to cecile. you know your own sister's writing. here it is. that paper was folded under the lining of the purse; you can read it. the purse is gone, and the children are in london before now. you can send a detective after them if you like."

with these last words, jane walked out of the room.

for nearly an hour lydia stayed perfectly still, the folded paper in her hand. at the end of that time she opened the paper, and read what it contained. she read it three times very carefully, then she got up and dressed, and came downstairs.

when jane brought her breakfast into the little parlor, she said a few words:

"i shall send no detective after those children; they and their purse may slip out of my life, they were never anything to me."

"may i have the bit of paper with the writing on it back?" asked jane in reply.

lydia handed it to her. then she poured herself out a cup of coffee, and drank it off.