“‘Ever your loving friend, “‘ASPASIA HUNTINGTON.’” “I shall show this letter to Sir Charles,” she said, when she was alone with Adrian, and had read it a second time. “But what have you there?” she added, as she saw him examining another letter with a puzzled expression. “I am trying to make out whether this epistle is directed to you or to me. The ‘Mr.’ or ‘Mrs.’ whichever it is, is very indistinct,” he replied. “I think it must be for me,” Brownie said, smiling. “It is a lady’s hand, and the ‘Mrs.’ looks as if a tear had dropped upon it.” “At all events, you may have the privilege of opening it,” said Adrian, giving it to her. She did so, and all doubt was removed as she read: “MY DEAR MRS. DREDMOND:—If you will allow me to address you thus, after all the trying events of the past. Since misfortune has come upon us, and I now occupy an humbler position than even you did when you were with us, my eyes have been opened, and I now see my wickedness in all its enormity. I cannot rest until I tell you how sincerely I repent of my unkindness to you, and ask you to forgive me if you can. Your lovely spirit and example on that last dreadful day at Vallingham Hall shamed while it maddened me, but the memory of it has since conquered me. I grieve continually over my treatment of you, and the sinfulness which has ruined my own life and wronged others; yet I can truthfully say that I rejoice that the right triumphed, and that you are now happy. “I do wrong, perhaps, to say that my life is ruined, for although much of it has been wasted, and the crowning joy of womanhood denied me, yet I can, God helping me, improve the future by making myself useful to others, and, in so far as I am able, atone for the past. A word from you will greatly comfort me. “Very truly, yours, “ISABEL COOLIDGE. “NEW YORK, December 15, 1877.” “Poor child! she was good at heart after all, only it was so covered up by ambition and pride that no one was conscious of it,” Brownie said, her tears falling fast. “It is a very earnest, humble letter, and I honor her more to-day than I did when she stood so high in society,” Adrian replied, heartily. “How submissively yet hopelessly she speaks of her love for Sir Charles.” “Yes, poor fellow, this trouble has been a severe blow to him, also,” said her husband. “I think I shall drive over to Lady Randal’s to-day; and, Adrian, do you think there would be any harm in my showing him both these letters?” the young wife asked, with a wistful look in her dark eyes. “What a forgiving little—or great heart you have, my darling,” he said, as he read her thought. “‘Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors,’” Brownie repeated with great earnestness. Her husband stooped and kissed her.