d, to his
surprise--almost to his affright--Eleanor Gwynn came in.

"I knew you were here. I knew you could not go out into the clear, holy
night, as if nothing had happened. Oh! did I curse you? If I did, I beg
you to forgive me; and I will try and ask the Almighty to bless you, if
you will but have a little mercy--a very little. It will kill my Nest if
she knows the truth now--she is so very weak. Why, she can not feed
herself, she is so low and feeble. You would not wish to kill her, I
think, Edward!" She looked at him as if expecting an answer; but he did
not speak. She went down on her knees on the flags by him.

"You will give me a little time, Edward, to get her strong, won't you,
now? I ask it on my bended knees! Perhaps, if I promise never to curse
you again, you will come sometimes to see her, till she is well enough
to know how all is over, and her heart's hopes crushed. Only say you'll
come for a month, or so, as if you still loved her--the poor
cripple--forlorn of the world. I'll get her strong, and not tax you
long." Her tears fell too fast for her to go on.

"Get up, Mrs. Gwynn," Edward said. "Don't kneel to me. I have no
objection to come and see Nest, now and then, so that all is clear
between you and me. Poor thing! I'm sorry, as it happens, she's so taken
up with the thought of me."

"It was likely, was not it? and you to have been her husband before this
time, if--Oh, miserable me! to let my child go and dim her bright life!
But you'll forgive me, and come sometimes, just for a little quarter of
an hour, once or twice a week. Perhaps she'll be asleep sometimes when
you call, and then, you know, you need not come in. If she were not so
ill, I'd never ask you."

So low and humble was the poor widow brought, through her exceeding love
for her daughter.

CHAPTER II.

Nest revived during the warm summer weather. Edward came to see her, and
staid the allotted quarter of an hour; but he dared not look her in the
face. She was indeed a cripple: one leg was much shorter than the other,
and she halted on a crutch. Her face, formerly so brilliant in color,
was wan and pale with suffering: the bright roses were gone, never to
return. Her large eyes were sunk deep down in their hollow, cavernous
sockets: but the light was in them still, when Edward came. Her mother
dreaded her returning strength--dreaded, yet desired it; for the heavy
burden of her secret was most oppressive at times, and she thought
E