ered the room, and glided swiftly but
noiselessly to the bed, looked down upon the scarcely breathing figure
lying there.

It was with difficulty that she repressed a shriek of agony at what
she saw, for the shadow of death was unmistakably settling over the
beloved face.

The invalid stirred slightly upon her pillow as Edith came to her side
and bent over her.

"My darling," she murmured weakly, as her white lids fluttered open,
and she bent a look full of love upon the fair face above her, "I--am
going--"

"No, no, mamma!" whispered the almost heart-broken girl, but
struggling mightily with her agony and to preserve calmness lest she
excite the invalid.

"Bring me the--Japanese box--quick!" the dying woman commanded, in a
scarcely audible tone.

Without a word Edith darted to a closet, opened a trunk, and from its
depths drew forth a beautiful casket inlaid with mother-of-pearl and
otherwise exquisitely decorated.

"The--key," gasped the sick one, fumbling feebly among the folds of
her night-robe.

Edith bent over her and unfastened a key from a golden chain which
encircled her mother's neck.

"Open!" she whispered, glancing toward the casket.

The girl, wondering, but awed and silent, unlocked the box and threw
back the cover, thus revealing several packages of letters and other
papers neatly arranged within it.

Mrs. Allandale reached forth a weak and bloodless hand, as if to take
something out of the box, when she suddenly choked, and in another
instant the red life-current was flowing from her lips.

"Letters--burn--" she gasped, with a last expiring effort, and then
became suddenly insensible.

In an agony of terror, Edith dashed the box upon the nearest chair and
began to chafe the cold hand that hung over the side of the bed, while
Mrs. O'Brien came forward, a look of awe on her face.

The frail chest of the invalid heaved two or three times, there was a
spasmodic twitching of the slender fingers lying on the young girl's
hand, then all was still, and Edith Allandale was motherless.

CHAPTER VI.

A HERITAGE OF SHAME.

We will not linger over the sad details of the ceremonies attending
Mrs. Allandale's burial. Suffice it to say that on Tuesday afternoon
her remains were borne away to Greenwood, and laid to rest, in the
family lot, beside those gone before, after which Edith returned to
her desolate abode more wretched than it is possible to describe.

She had made up her mind, h