I
understand how you feel. There is but one person beside ourselves, who
knows my errand here, and I can answer for his silence."

"Who is it?"

"Mr. Hogg, a friend of your wife and daughters."

The news brought by Mr. Gordon sent both Gertrude and her mother into
violent hysterics, and Mr. Ross and an old nurse who had been in the
family for years, had their hands full for the rest of the night. It was a
sore wound to the pride of both mother and daughter.

"The scoundrel! the wretch! the villain!" cried Gertrude. "I can never
hold up my head again; everybody will be talking about me, and those
envious Miss Petitts and their mother will say, 'It's just good enough for
her; serves her right for being so proud of the grand match she was going
to make.' Oh dear, oh dear! why couldn't that Gordon have staid away and
held his tongue!"

"Gertrude!" exclaimed her father, in anger and astonishment, "is this your
gratitude to him for saving you from being the wife of a gambler and
murderer? You might well be thankful to him and to a Higher Power, for
your happy escape."

"Yes, of course," said Lucy. "But what are we to do? the invitations are
all out. Oh dear, dear, was there ever such a wretched piece of business!
Phil, it's real good in you not to reproach me."

"'Twould be useless now," he sighed, "and I think the reproaches of your
own conscience must be sufficient. Not that I would put all the blame on
you, though. A full share of it belongs to me."

By morning both ladies had recovered some degree of calmness, but Gertrude
obstinately refused to leave her room, or to see any one who might call,
even her most intimate friend.

"Tell them I'm sick," she said, "it'll be true enough, for I have an awful
headache."

It was to her mother who had been urging her to come down to breakfast,
that she was speaking.

"Well, I shall send up a cup of tea," said Mrs. Ross. "But, what is this?"
as the maid entered with a note. "It's directed to you, Gertrude."

"From him, I presume," Gertrude said, as the girl went out and closed the
door. "Throw it into the fire, mother, or no; I'll send it back unopened."

"It is not his hand," said Mrs. Ross, closely scrutinizing the address.

"Then give it to me, please;" and almost snatching it from her mother's
hand, Gertrude tore it open, and glanced hastily over its contents.

"Yes, I'll see him! he'll be here directly; and I must look my best!" she
exclaimed, jumping up and beg