before), 'do
not give your happiness into Edwin Urquhart's keeping. You have yet
three days before you for reconsideration. Break your bonds, and,
unhampered by uncongenial ties, seek in another climate for that peace
of mind you will never enjoy here or elsewhere as his wife.'

"She stared at me for a moment with wide-open and appealing eyes; then
she shook her head, and answered quietly:

"'One broken-off wedding in the family is enough. I cannot shock society
with another. But, oh, Mark! why did you not warn me at first? I think I
would have listened; I think so.'

"'Forgive me,' I entreated. 'You know it would have been presumptuous in
me at first; afterward she stood in the way.'

"'I know,' she answered, and turned away her head.

"I saw she did not wish me to leave her yet; so I said:

"'You are going away; you are going to leave Albany.'

"'I must, or so Edwin thinks. He says I will never recover in this
climate.'

"'Do you wish to go?'

"'Yes; I think I do. I can never be happy here, and perhaps when we are
far away, and have only each other to think of, the love and confidence
of which I have dreamed may come. At all events, I comfort myself with
that hope.'

"'But it is a long, long sea voyage. Have you strength enough to carry
you through?'

"'If I have not,' she intimated, with a mournful smile, 'he will be
free, and I released without scandal from a marriage that fills you with
apprehension.'

"'Oh,' I cried, 'would I were your brother indeed! This should never go
on.' Then impelled by what I thought to be my duty, I inquired: 'And
your money, Honora?'

"She flushed, but answered in the same spirit in which I had spoken.

"'As little of it as may be will remain with him. That much my old
guardian insisted upon. Do not ask me any more questions, Mark.'

"'None of a nature so personal,' I promised. 'But there is one
thing--can you not guess what it is?--which I ought to know. It is about
Marah.'

"The words came with effort, and hurt her as much as me. But she
answered bravely:

"'She returns to Schenectady the same day that we depart. I hoped she
would not linger to the wedding, but she seems to have a strange desire
to face again the people who have talked about her so freely these last
few weeks. So what can I say to dissuade her?'

"'Let her stay,' I muttered; 'but let her beware how she behaves on that
day, for there will be two eyes watching her, prompt to see any
treachery, an