entlemen. How, then, was the household electrified one morning when
it was found that Amy had fled, and that Harold Hastings was the
companion of her flight?

'I wanted to tell you,' Amy wrote to her mother in the note left on
her dressing table. 'I wanted to tell you and be married at home,
but Mr. Hastings would not allow it. It would create trouble, he
said, between himself and Mr. Tracy, who I may confess to you in
confidence, asked me twice to be his wife, and when I refused,
without giving him a reason, for I dared not tell him of my love for
his friend, he was so angry and behaved so strangely, and there was
such a look in his eyes, that I was afraid of him, and it was this
fear, I think, which made me willing to go away secretly with Harold
and be married in New York. We are going to Europe; shall sail
to-morrow morning at nine o'clock in the Scotia. The marriage
ceremony will be performed before we go on board. I shall write as
soon as we reach Liverpool. You must forgive me, mother, and I am
sure you would not blame me, if you knew how much I love Mr.
Hastings. I know he is poor, and that I might be mistress of Tracy
Park, but I love Harold best. It is ten o'clock, and the train, you
know, passes at eleven; so I must say good-bye.

'Yours lovingly,

'Amy Crawford, now, but when you read this,

'Amy Hastings.'

This was Amy's letter which her mother found upon entering her room
after waiting more than an hour for her daughter's appearance at the
breakfast, which they always took by themselves. To say that she was
shocked and astonished would but faintly portray the state of her mind
as she read that her beautiful young daughter had gone with Harold
Hastings, whom she had never liked, for though he was handsome, and
agreeable, and gentlemanly as a rule, she knew him to be thoroughly
selfish and indolent, and she trembled for her daughter's happiness when
a little time had quenched the ardor of his passion. Added to this was
another thought which made her brain reel for a moment an she thought
what might have been. Arthur Tracy had wished to make Amy his wife, and
mistress of Tracy Park, which she would have graced so well, for in all
the town there was not a fairer, sweeter girl than Amy Crawford, or one
better beloved.

It did not matter that she was poor, and her mother was only a
housekeeper. She had never felt a slight on