at you may know not alone how
black my deception was, but how bitterly I have expiated it. I came into
this house a frivolous girl; I leave it a broken-hearted woman. Do not
blame me too harshly. It is myself that I have injured most. I leave you
as well off as before you saw me; free to return to your spirit-love. She
will forgive you. It is my only consolation that she is but a
spirit-love. If she were a woman I could never have given you up to her.
Never! Oh, Paul! If I could only hope that you would not wholly despise
me, that you, would think sometimes a little pitifully of

"IDA SLATER."

She next wrote a note to Miss Ludington, full of contrition and
tenderness, and referring her to Paul's letter for the whole story. It
was after two o'clock in the morning when she finished the second letter,
and laid it in plain view beside the other. She next removed her jewels
and exchanged her rich costume for the simplest in her wardrobe, and
having donned cloak and hat, extinguished the light, and softly unlocking
the door, stepped into the hall.

Perfect silence reigned in the house. As she stood listening the clock in
the sitting-room struck three. There was no time to lose. The early
summer dawn would soon arrive, and, before the first servants of
neighbours were stirring she must be outside the grounds and well on her
way.

There was a late risen moon, and enough light penetrated the house to
enable her to make her way without difficulty. As she passed Paul's door
she stopped and stood leaning her forehead against the casement for some
minutes. At last she knelt and pressed her lips to the threshold, and,
choking down a sob, went on downstairs. As she passed through the
sitting-room she paused a moment before the picture. "Forgive me," she
whispered, looking up at the dimly visible face of Ida Ludington, and
passed on. Unfastening a window that opened upon the piazza, she stepped
forth and closed it behind her.

At the first light sound of her feet upon the walk, the mastiff that
guarded the house bounded up to her, and seeing who it was, licked her
hand. The big beast had fallen in love with her on her first arrival, and
been her devoted attendant ever since. She sat down on the edge of the
walk and put her arms around his neck, wetting his shaggy coat with her
tears. Here was a friend who would know no difference between Ida Slater
and Ida Ludington. Here w