at
these latter words, but he concealed it from the distressed man, and
replied, "It grieves me to hear you talk thus. Why should you regard
your family as burdensome guests beneath my roof, when we are soon to be
linked in the ties of relationship by the union of our children?"

"True!" returned Major Howard. "Such a union has been proposed, but----"

"But what?" asked Col. M.

"You may not look as favorably on its consummation now as formerly."

"Judge not so meanly of me, my friend!" said he, warmly. "Your
daughter's rich soul and personal charms are all the wealth I desire in
the lady who shall become the wife of my son."

Major Howard was silent.

"I do not wish to hasten this marriage," resumed the colonel, "because
you expressed a desire, several months ago, that it should be delayed
till a change occurred in your wife's situation (a strange emphasis on
the word _wife_); but were it consummated, your family could occupy
one-half of my mansion with no expense to me till Rufus should rebuild
the one you have recently lost by fire."

Major Howard's face suddenly brightened. The colonel saw he had made a
hit, and followed up his advantage so adroitly that e'er the twain
parted, the father had consented that the marriage between his daughter
and the colonel's son should take place within four weeks. He sought his
daughter and communicated the intelligence. Florence received it in
silence. She felt they were without a home in the wide world, and at the
mercy of the man under whose roof they were sheltered. A strange horror
was seizing upon her soul and bowing her spirits to the earth. There
were many looks and glances around her she could not understand; but
they seemed possessed of some dark and hidden meaning. Hannah Doliver's
glee knew no bounds. She followed Rufus from morning till night, and
appeared uneasy if he was a moment beyond her sight. The young man
returned her fondness with hatred and contempt. Edith, with her pale,
wan face and sunken eyes, looked the mere shadow of her former self.
During her long illness, her beautiful head had been shorn of its ripply
wealth of auburn curls, and, as she lay languidly on the soft cushions
of her luxuriant couch, few would have recognized in that wasted form
the once radiant Edith Malcome. She had a feverishness and uncertainty
of temper common to long-confined invalids. Florence could find little
companionship in her society; besides, she was too weak to endure