42
��LOVE WINS LOVE.
��over you ? You are sober as an owl," she said.
" You have received good news. I con- elude, Ellen," said her friend, wearily- arising from the window.
"Yes, and you have none. That ac- counts for your long face. You recol- lect hearing me speak of my cousin Nora, do you not?"
" Yes, and you promised to show me her picture," replied Josephine, with an attempt at animation.
" Yes, I will do so, and also that of her husband. They were married last Wednesday, and this paper contains an account of the wedding. After you have looked at their pictured faces I will read you what this paper states in regard to them," returned Ellen.
A moment later she had procured two photographs, and after a hasty glance at them, threw them on the tabJe beside which her friend was seated. Josephine took up the pictures, and her gaze fell upon the face of Lee Courtney.
"How came you by Lee Courtney's picture?" she asked, turning her white face toward her friend.
" Why, he is cousin Nora's husband, Josephine; but where did you ever see him, in the name of wonder?" replied Ellen in sin-prise.
She did not faint ; even the bliss of un- consciousness was denied her. After- ward she remembered that she had given some common-place answer, and then, making some remark about her aching head, had sought her bed, and through the long hours of the night had fought with the pain at her crushed heart. She saw it all now— saw how blind she had been from the first. Two weeks later there came a letter to the anxious par- ents at the farm-house, saying :
" Father — mother — you will have learned ere you receive this how basely I have been deceived. I cannot talk of it yet — the pain is too severe ; neither can I remain here at school or return to you. So by the time you receive this I shall be far away. A lady— a friend of my room mate — wishes a companion on a journey to Europe, and has kindly con- sented to allow me to fill that place. It
��I live I shall return to you in time. Good-bye, dear kind parents. Your unhappy daughter,
Josephine."
Through all the years that followed there came no sign that she yet lived, until ten long years had passed — then to the care-worn parents there came at last a letter, telling them that she was yet alive and would be with them almost as soon as her letter reached them. Jose- phine Granger left home a young girl full of hope. She returned a woman, beautiful and wealthy, and no more to be compared with what she had once been than is the choicest garden flower to the simple field daisy. The lady in whose company she had travelled had learned to love the sad, pale-faced girl, and when at last death overtook her, Jo- sephine learned to her surprise that her kind friend had bequeathed a large por- tion of her vast wealth to herself.
Home again, at last! There was infi- nite rest in the knowledge, and she would remain there until she could de- cide what to do in the future.
" Mother," said she, the day after her arrival home, "I have never heard one word concerning Frank Clyde since I left home. Is he yet living? "
" Yes, my child ; and if you will go to church with us to-morrow you will see him," said her mother.
On the morrow she once more entered the little white church at Glenville, but the faces raised to her own were nearly all strange to her. Involuntarily her eyes sought the pew where, years ago, she had been wont to see the kindly face of her friend, Frank Clyde. Mrs. Clyde sat there alone.
" Frank is late, doubtless," she thought, settling herself back into her seat, and raising her eyes to the old- fashioned pulpit. The minister arose, and in a clear, impassioned voice began the services of the day. Surely some- where she had heard that voice. Could it be her old friend, Frank Clyde? An hour later she stood before him and felt the warm clasp of his hand and heard him welcome her home in the same old voice, cultivated now, to be sure, but
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