when they have
received my debt of thanks they are to wipe out my name from the ledger,
and remember me no more."

Charles Heathcote was much moved by her words. The very calm she spoke
in had all its effect, and he felt he knew not what of self-accusation
as he thought of her lonely and friendless lot. He could not disabuse
his mind of the thought that it was through offended pride she was
relinquishing the station she had so long striven to attain, and now
held within her very grasp. "She is not the selfish creature I had
deemed her; she is far, far better than I believed. I have mistaken her,
misjudged her. That she has gone through much sorrow is plain; that
there may be in her story incidents which she would grieve to see a town
talk, is also likely; but are not all these reasons the more for our
sympathy and support, and how shall we answer to ourselves, hereafter,
for any show of neglect or harshness towards her?"

While he thus reflected, she had turned to the table and was busy
writing.

"I have just thought of sending a few farewell lines to May," said she,
talking away as her pen ran along the paper. "We all of us mistake
each other in this world; we are valued for what we are not, and deemed
deficient in what we have." She stopped, and then crumpling up the
half-written paper in her hand, said: "No, I'll not write,--at least,
not now. You 'll tell her everything,--ay, Charles, everything!"

Here she fixed her eyes steadfastly on him, as though to look into his
very thoughts. "You and May Leslie will be married, and one of your
subjects of mysterious talk when you 're all alone will be that strange
woman who called herself Mrs. Penthony Morris. What wise guesses and
shrewd conjectures do I fancy you making; how cunningly you 'll put
together fifty things that seem to illustrate her story, and yet have no
bearing upon it; and how cleverly you 'll construct a narrative for her
without one solitary atom of truth. Well, she 'll think of you, too, but
in a different spirit, and she will be happier than I suspect if she do
not often wish to live over again the long summer days and starry nights
at Marlia."

"May is certain to ask me about Clara, where she is, and if we are
likely to see her again."

"And you 'll tell her that as I did not speak of her, your own delicacy
imposed such a reserve that you could not ask these questions.
Good-bye. But that I want to be forgotten, I 'd give you a keepsake.
Good-by