, and reproach her that she had been
so untrue to herself, even for the preservation of a mother.

The only thing that consoled her for her great sacrifice, was that her
beloved mother seemed to revive to some sense of enjoyment, when she
again found herself surrounded by that comfort to which she had been
accustomed. Weakened in mind as in body, Mrs. Euston fondly flattered
herself that her daughter might yet be happy amid the splendors of
wealth; and the poor mother welcomed the arbiter of their future fate
with smiles and courteous words, to which he listened with politeness,
and scorned as the hollow offspring of necessity.

The dreaded day at length arrived, and with the calmness of exhausted
emotion, Edith prepared herself for the ceremony which was to consign
her to the protection of Barclay. She believed her earthly fate
sealed, and resignation was all she could command.

Amid all her suffering, there was one thought which arose perpetually
before her; there was one human being on earth who would have risked
his life to serve or save her, and she knew that a heart worthy of her
love would hear the history of her enforced marriage with bitter
disappointment and anguish.

Near the home of her infancy dwelt a family of sons and daughters with
whom she had been reared in habits of intimacy. Between herself and
the eldest son a strong attachment had grown up; it had never been
expressed in words, yet each felt as well assured of the affection of
the other, as if a thousand protestations had been uttered. About the
time that Mrs. Euston and her daughter left their own home to travel
with their beloved invalid, Walter Atwood bade adieu to his paternal
home, on a tour to Europe, where he was to complete his professional
education as a medical man.

Mrs. Euston's place passed into the hands of strangers, and after a
few months all intercourse by letter ceased between their former
friends and themselves. After the death of her son, the bereaved
mother would not consent to return to their former neighborhood, and
thus all trace of them was lost to the Atwoods; but Edith knew in her
deep heart that Walter would return--would seek her; and it was this
conviction which gave her firmness to resist so long the overtures of
Barclay.

Now all was at an end; another hour and the right even to think of him
would no longer be hers. Her mother entered her room, folded her to
her breast, and whispered,

"The hour has arrived,