y affection.'

"For a moment everything swam before my eyes. 'You will never make me so
wretched!' I entreated. 'I will make you my heiress, if Mary persists
in her present determination,' he declared, and without further word
sternly left the room. What could I do but fall on my knees and pray!
Of all in this miserable house, I am the most wretched. To supplant
her! But I shall not be called upon to do it; Mary will give up Mr.
Clavering."

"There!" exclaimed Mr. Gryce. "What do you think of that? Isn't it
becoming plain enough what was Mary's motive for this murder? But go on;
let us hear what followed."

With sinking heart, I continued. The next entry is dated July 19, and
runs thus:

"I was right. After a long struggle with Uncle's invincible will, Mary
has consented to dismiss Mr. Clavering. I was in the room when she
made known her decision, and I shall never forget our Uncle's look of
gratified pride as he clasped her in his arms and called her his own
True Heart. He has evidently been very much exercised over this matter,
and I cannot but feel greatly relieved that affairs have terminated
so satisfactorily. But Mary? What is there in her manner that vaguely
disappoints me? I cannot say. I only know that I felt a powerful
shrinking overwhelm me when she turned her face to me and asked if I
were satisfied now. But I conquered my feelings and held out my hand.
She did not take it.

"July 26. How long the days are! The shadow of our late trial is upon
me yet; I cannot shake it off. I seem to see Mr. Clavering's despairing
face wherever I go. How is it that Mary preserves her cheerfulness? If
she does not love him, I should think the respect which she must feel
for his disappointment would keep her from levity at least.

"Uncle has gone away again. Nothing I could say sufficed to keep him.

"July 28. It has all come out. Mary has only nominally separated from
Mr. Clavering; she still cherishes the idea of one day uniting herself
to him in marriage. The fact was revealed to me in a strange way not
necessary to mention here; and has since been confirmed by Mary herself.
'I admire the man,' she declares, 'and have no intention of giving him
up.' 'Then why not tell Uncle so?' I asked. Her only answer was a bitter
smile and a short,--'I leave that for you to do.'

"July 30. Midnight. Worn completely out, but before my blood cools let
me write. Mary is a wife. I have just returned from seeing her give her
hand to