.

THE MILLS OF GOD.
In the cold gray hours of the morning, Hope and his friend left the cottage wherein such a tragedy had taken place.

The dead woman was lying stiff and white on her bed under a winding sheet, which had already been strewn with many-hued chrysanthemums taken from the pink parlor by the weeping Jane.

The wretched woman who had led so stormy and unhappy a life had at least one sincere mourner, for she had always been kind to the servant, who formed her entire domestic staff, and Jane would not hear a word said against the dead.

Not that anyone did say anything; for Random and Hope kept the contents of the confession to themselves.