me before?"

Marcus looked into the thin face with polite scrutiny. "Yes, madam,"
said he, at length. "I think I saw you on a railway train in New Jersey,
over a year ago; and also in the town of--, in that State, on the
evening of a certain unfortunate exhibition. But you are changed, in
some respects, since then."

"You would say that I am paler and thinner; and I am here to tell you
why I am, and also to make all the atonement in my power for a crime
that I have committed."

Marcus Wilkeson's first thought was of the unfathomed murder. His
startled face expressed what was passing through his mind.

The strange woman read his thoughts. "The crime to which I refer is not
the murder of Mr. Minford; of which, I may here say, I believed, from
the first, that you were entirely innocent. Crimes--of that character,
at least--have never been known in your family."

"All that you say, taken in connection with some curious circumstances
which occurred on that railway ride, and that memorable night in New
Jersey," said Marcus, "make me intensely anxious to hear what you have
to tell. Please impart the information at once, and fully. I call Heaven
to witness, that your name, your history, the secret which you are to
reveal, shall pass with me to the grave, if you desire it."

"I accept your offer," said she, with emotion, "though my crime is so
flagrant that no publicity, no punishment would be too great for it.
Still, as full justice can be done, and reparation made, without this
public disgrace, I prefer that my identity should be unknown except to
you. I think that I have but few months to live." The woman expelled a
hacking cough.

"My story must be short," said she, "and suited to my strength and this
cough. You probably remember Lucy Anserhoff, who was a little playmate
of yours in your native village? I see, by your nod, that you do. I
am--she. You may well look surprised, for there is little in my haggard
face and wasted form to recall that once innocent girl. You remember, I
presume, my engagement to your brother Aurelius--excuse my faltering,
sir, for, even at this distance of time, I cannot speak of your dead
brother without emotion. It is not necessary to recall to your memory
the details of your brother's conduct to me, and how he afterward
married--another--and moved to this city. This early portion of my
unfortunate career is well known to you, as it was to all the people of
our little village."

Here th