--there was nothing for her, and her heart
was almost broken.

She sent the nurse down to the office to ask if there was not some
mistake--if Mrs. Heath's mail had not been overlooked.

"No, there are no letters for <i>Mrs. Heath</i>," the man answered, with a
peculiar emphasis on the name, and an insolent laugh, that made the woman
very angry.

When she related the circumstance to Virgie, she threw up her arms, with a
gesture of despair, and cried out:

"Oh! what shall I do?"

She appeared stunned, crushed, and the kind-hearted creature who served
her, and who, of course, had known that something was wrong, was extremely
anxious about her.

She begged that she might be allowed to send for Dr. Knox; but Virgie
refused, with a shudder. She could not bear the thought of the good
physician learning the story of her desertion and shame, for such, she
began to feel, must be the true construction to be put upon Sir William's
long absence and silence.

A little later there came a tap upon her door. She sent the nurse to
answer it, and heard some one say:

"Mrs. Farnum's compliments, and she would like Mrs. Heath to read these,
and then return them to her."

The nurse shut the door, and then came to Virgie, with a letter and paper
in her hand.

For an instant she thought it might be a letter for her, and she seized it
with an eager cry.

But no; it was addressed to Mrs. Farnum, though it bore the Heathdale
postmark, and was in the handwriting of Lady Linton.

Virgie grew deathly white, and clutched at her throat, for it seemed as if
she were suffocating.

Then she mastered her emotion, and crept away to her chamber to read the
letter, for she felt that it contained some fatal news, and she wished no
one to witness her suffering as she read it.

With it convulsively clasped in her hands, she fell upon her knees and
sobbed:

"Oh, Heaven, spare me deeper sorrow! oh, do not confirm my shame!"

It was some time before she could compose herself enough to read that
fatal missive, but at length she unfolded it and began to peruse it.

* * * * *

"Dear Myra," the letter began, "you may be surprised by the contents of
this, but I cannot bring myself to address that person by the name which
she claims, and so feel compelled to ask you to oblige me by giving her a
message, or, perhaps what would be better, allow her to read this letter
for herself. My brother is away from home just now