"Unless he saw it was absolutely killing her, he would not enlighten Richard." "He shall see that it will not kill me," she said to herself, "I will be gay whether I feel it or not. I will out-do myself, and if my broken heart should break again, no one shall be the wiser." Thus deciding, she turned toward the window where the gray dawn was stealing in, and pointing to it, said: "Look, the day is breaking; the longest night will have an end, so will this miserable pain at my heart. Daylight will surely come when I shall be happy with Richard. Don't tell him, Victor, don't; and now leave me, for my head is bursting with weariness." He knew it was, by the expression of her face, which, in the dim lamp-light, looked ghastly and worn, and he was about to leave her, when she called him back, and asked how long he had lived with Mr. Harrington. "Thirteen years," he replied. "He picked me up in Germany, just before he came home to America. He was not blind then." "Then you never saw my mother?" "Never." "Nor Marie?" "Never to my knowledge," "You were in Geneva with Richard, you say. Where were you, when-- when--" Edith could not finish, but Victor understood what she would ask, and answered her, "I must have been in Paris. I went home for a few months, ten years ago last fall, and did not return until just before we came to Collingwood. The housekeeper told me there had been a wedding at Lake View, our Geneva home, but I did not ask the particulars. There's a moral there, Edith; a warning to all foolish college boys, and girls, who don't half know their minds." Edith was too intent upon her own matters to care for morals, and without replying directly, she said, "Richard will tell you to-morrow or to-day, rather, of the engagement, and you'll be guarded, won't you?" "I shall let him know I disapprove," returned Victor, "but I shan't say anything that sounds like Arthur St. Claire, not yet, at all events." "And, Victor, in the course of the day, you'll make some errand to Brier Hill, and incidentally mention it to Mrs. Atherton. Richard won't tell her, I know, and I can't--I can't. Oh, I wish it were-- " "The widow, instead of you," interrupted Victor, as he stood with the door knob in his hand. "That's what you mean, and I must say it shows a very proper frame of mind in a bride-elect." Edith made a gesture for him to leave her, and with a low bow he withdrew, while Edith, alternately shivering with cold and flushed with fever, crept into bed, and fell away to sleep, forgetting, for the time, that there were in the world such things as broken hearts, unwilling brides, and blind husbands old enough to be her father. * * * * * *