shoulder; and the tears ran down her cheeks. The letter from
William that Lady Tranmore had given her lay on a table near. She took
it up, and lit a candle to read it.

* * * * *

"Kitty--I bid you come home. I should have started for Venice an hour
ago, after reading Miss French's letter, but that honor and public duty
keep me here. But mother is going, and I implore and command you, as
your husband, to return with her. Oh, Kitty, have I ever failed
you?--have I ever been hard with you?--that you should betray our love
like this? Was I hard when we parted--a month ago? If I was, forgive me,
I was sore pressed. Come home, you poor child, and you shall hear no
reproaches from me. I think I have nearly succeeded in undoing your rash
work. But what good will that be to me if you are to use my absence for
that purpose to bring us both to ruin? Kitty, the grass is not yet green
on our child's grave. I was at Haggart last Sunday, and I went over in
the dusk to put some flowers upon it. I thought of you without a
moment's bitterness, and prayed for us both, if such as I may pray. Then
next morning came Miss French's letter. Kitty, have you no heart--and no
conscience? Will you bring disgrace on that little grave? Will you dig
between us the gulf which is irreparable, across which your hand and
mine can never touch each other any more? I cannot and I will not
believe it. Come back to me--come back!"

* * * * *

She reread it with a melting heart--with deep, shaking sobs. When she
first glanced through it the word "command" had burned into her proud
sense; the rest passed almost unnoticed. Now the very strangeness in it
as coming from William--the strangeness of its grave and deep
emotion--held and grappled with her.

Suddenly--some tension of the whole being seemed to give way. Her head
sank back on the chair, she felt herself weak and trembling, yet happy
as a soul new-born into a world of light. Waking dreams passed through
her brain in a feverish succession, reversing the dream of the
night--images of peace and goodness and reunion.

Minutes--hours--passed. With the first light she got up feebly, found
ink and paper, and began to write.

* * * * *

<i>From Lady Tranmore to William Ashe</i>:

"Oh! my dearest William--at last a gleam of hope.

"No letter this morning. I was in despair. Margaret reported that Kitty
refuse