istory, why
should I hesitate to acquaint you with the contents of her letter? You
know the object of her journey north, and I will read you the
result."

The governess drew a letter from her pocket, and Dr. Grey leaned his
face on his hand and listened.

"SOLITUDE, _May 10th, 18--_.

"_Edith_,--No lingering vestige of affection, no remorseful
tenderness, prompted that mission from which I have recently
returned, and only the savage scourgings of implacable duty could
have driven me, like a galley-slave, to my hated task. The victim
of a horrible and disfiguring disease which so completely changed
his countenance that his own mother would scarcely have recognized
him,--and the tenant of a charity hospital in the town of ----, I
found that man who has proved the Upas of your life and of mine.
During his delirium I watched and nursed him--not lovingly (how
could I?) but faithfully, kindly, pityingly. When all danger was
safely passed, and his clouded intellect began to clear itself, I
left him in careful hands, and provided an ample amount for his
comfortable maintenance in coming years. I spared him the
humiliation of recognizing in his nurse his injured and despised
wife; and, as night after night I watched beside the pitiable
wreck of a once handsome, fascinating, and idolized man, I fully
and freely forgave Maurice Carlyle all the wrongs that so
completely stranded my life. To-day he is well, and probably
happy, while he finds himself possessed of means by which to
gratify his extravagant tastes; but how long his naturally fine
constitution can hold at bay the legion of ills that hunt like
hungry wolves along the track of reckless dissipation, God only
knows.

"For some natures it is exceedingly difficult to forgive,--to
forget, impossible; and while my husband's abject wretchedness and
degradation disarmed the hate that has for so many years rankled
in my heart, I could never again look willingly upon his face.
Edith, you and I have nothing in common but miserable memories,
which, I beg you to believe, are sufficiently vivid, without the
torturing adjunct of your countenance; therefore, pardon me if I
decline to receive your visits, and return the letters that are
quite as welcome and cheering to my eyes as the little shoes and
garments of the long-buried dead to the mother, who would fain
look no more upon the harrowing relics. I do not wis