A shadow DARKENS the peaceful home of the basket-maker.

Sweet Bernardine Moore laughed to see the look of amazement upon the young doctor’s face.

He who had been reared in luxury, pampered and indulged—ay, spoiled by an over-indulgent mother, what had he ever known of the bitter realities of life, the struggles many have to undergo for their very existence?

He looked at this delicate, graceful girl, and his lips trembled, his eyes grew moist with tears.

Oh, if he but dared remove her from all this sorrow! The thought of her toiling and suffering there was more than he could calmly endure.

He turned away quickly. In another moment he would have committed himself. He had almost forgotten that he was bound to another, and would have been kneeling at her feet in another minute but for the sound of her father’s voice, which brought him to himself.

“Bernardine!” cried her father, fretfully, “what are you doing out there so long in the hall? Don’t you know that Mr. Wilde is waiting here to talk with you?”

A pitiful shadow crossed the girl’s face. Evidently she knew what the man had to say to her.

Tears which she could not resist came to her eyes, and her lovely lips trembled.

Doctor Gardiner could not help but observe this.

“Bernardine,” he cried, hoarsely, forgetting himself for the moment, “I should like to ask something of you. Will you promise to grant my request?”

“Yes,” she murmured, faintly and unhesitatingly.

“Do not trust the man to whom your father is talking.”

“There is little need to caution me in regard to him, Doctor Gardiner,” she murmured. “My own heart has told me that already—”

She stopped short in great embarrassment, and Doctor Gardiner thought it best not to pursue the subject further, for his own peace of mind as well as hers.

He turned abruptly away, and was quickly lost to sight in the labyrinth of stair-ways.

With slow steps Bernardine had re-entered her apartments again. As she approached the door, she heard Jasper Wilde say to her father in an angry, excited voice:

“There is no use in talking to you any longer; it must be settled to-night. I do not intend to wait any longer.”

“But it is so late!” whined the basket-maker in his high, sharp treble.

“You knew I was coming, and just what I was coming here for. Why didn’t you get rid of the poor, penny doctor, instead of encouraging him?”

“I could not say much to the doctor, for he had my life in his hands, and saved it.”

“There might be worse things for you to face,” replied the man, menacingly. And the poor old basket-maker understood but too well what he meant.

“Yes, yes,” he said, huskily, “you must certainly speak to Bernardine this very night, if I can get her to give you a hearing. I will do my best to influence her to have you.”

“Influence!” exclaimed the man, savagely. “You must command her!”

“Bernardine is not a girl one can command,” sighed the old man. “She likes her own way, you know.”

“It isn’t for her to say what she wants or doesn’t want!” exclaimed the man savagely. “I shall look to you to bring the girl round to your way of thinking, without any nonsense. Do you hear and comprehend?”

“Yes,” said the old man, wearily. “But that isn’t making Bernardine understand. Some young girls are very willful!”

Trembling with apprehension, the old basket-maker dropped into the nearest chair.

His haggard face had grown terribly pale, and his emaciated hands shook, while his eyes fairly bulged from their sockets. The agony of mind he was undergoing was intense.

“Will Bernardine refuse this man?” he muttered to himself, “Oh, if I but dared tell her all, would she pity, or would she blame me?”

He loved the girl after his own fashion; but to save himself he was willing to sacrifice her. Poor Bernadine! Had she but known all!