or she
with me? I know now that this is so; but my fault has been that I did
not know it when I was there with her. I choose to tell you all," he
continued, towards the end of the letter, "and therefore I let you
know that I have engaged myself to marry another woman. Ah! I can
foresee how bitter will be your feelings when you read this: but they
will not be so bitter as mine while I write it. Yes; I am already
engaged to one who will suit me, and whom I may suit. You will not
expect me to speak ill of her who is to be near and dear to me. But
she is one with whom I may mate myself without an inward conviction
that I shall destroy all her happiness by doing so. Lilian," he said,
"shall always have my prayers; and I trust that she may soon forget,
in the love of an honest man, that she ever knew one so dishonest
as--Adolphus Crosbie."

Of what like must have been his countenance as he sat writing such
words of himself under the ghastly light of his own small, solitary
lamp? Had he written his letter at his office, in the day-time, with
men coming in and out of his room, he could hardly have written of
himself so plainly. He would have bethought himself that the written
words might remain, and be read hereafter by other eyes than those
for which they were intended. But, as he sat alone, during the small
hours of the night, almost repenting of his sin with true repentance,
he declared to himself that he did not care who might read them. They
should, at any rate, be true. Now they had been read by her to whom
they had been addressed, and the daughter was standing before the
mother to hear her doom.

"Tell me all at once," Lily had said; but in what words was her
mother to tell her?

"Lily," she said, rising from her seat, and leaving the two letters
on the couch; that addressed to the daughter was hidden beneath a
handkerchief, but that which she had read she left open and in sight.
She took both the girl's hands in hers as she looked into her face,
and spoke to her. "Lily, my child!" Then she burst into sobs, and was
unable to tell her tale.

"Is it from him, mamma? May I read it? He cannot be--"

"It is from Mr Crosbie."

"Is he ill, mamma? Tell me at once. If he is ill I will go to him."

"No, my darling, he is not ill. Not yet;--do not read it yet. Oh,
Lily! It brings bad news; very bad news."

"Mamma, if he is not in danger, I can read it. Is it bad to him, or
only bad to me?"

At this moment the servant k