he knew all, she would own that this is my duty;
but--" here the letter was torn across, and Fay read no more. But as
she stood there her fingers stiffened over the paper, and an icy chill
seemed to rob her of all feeling. She thought that letter was written
to Margaret, and now her despair had reached its climax.

Poor, unhappy Wee Wifie; it was a most fatal mistake. That letter had
been written by Hugh one night when he could not sleep, and it was
addressed to his wife. He had come to the conclusion that he had lived
the life of a hypocrite long enough, and that it would be wiser and
more honest if he unburdened himself of his unhappy secret and told
Fay why he thought it better to go way. He had tried to speak to her
once, but she did not seem to understand, and he had grown irritable
and impatient; it would be easier to make excuses for himself on
paper. He could tell her truly that he was very fond of her, and that
he wanted to make her happy. "I mean to make you a good husband," he
had said in a previous portion; "one of these days, if you are patient
with me, you shall be the happiest little woman in the world."

Hugh never finished this letter; something happened to distract his
attention, and he never found an opportunity of completing it. The
night before he had read it over, and the beginning had not pleased
him. "I will write another when I am away," he said to himself; "I am
afraid she will feel herself hurt if she reads this, poor little
thing. I have not been sufficiently considerate." Unfortunately, Fay
had come to a different conclusion. She thought the letter had been
written to Margaret, and that the "she" who was mentioned was Hugh's
wife. Yes, it was his wife of whom Hugh spoke, when he said the same
place could not hold them both, and for "place" the unhappy girl
substituted "house." Hugh could not remain in the same house with her.
"She was good and gentle; if she knew all"--ah! and she did know
all--"she would own that it was his duty; his present life was
unendurable," and therefore--therefore he was going to Egypt with that
dreadful man who would lead him into danger. "One or other of us must
leave, and of course it must be I."

"No, no, my bonny Hugh," she said at last, with a dim smile, as she
lifted up her eyes to his portrait; "if one must be sacrificed it
shall not be you--no, my dearest, it shall not be you." And then, in
her childish ignorance, she made up her mind that Hugh should not