She had stopped suddenly, catching her breath, and she reeled like a person drunken with wine; but, pressing her hand to her side, as if to still her fierce heart-throbs she strove to go on, though every word came with a pant: “And, Earle, do not mourn—do not grieve any more than you can help; it would not be right—you have a noble career before you, and you must do honor to the name you bear——” “What are honors to me? What is anything in the world worth to me _now_?” he interrupted, hoarsely. “You must conquer that reckless spirit, Earle—try not to think of me any more than it is possible to help; I shall do very well, I hope. I shall stay with papa, and strive to win him to better things.” Her pale lips quivered as she thought how dreary the world would be when he was gone, and how thankless the task she had set herself to accomplish. After a moment she quietly drew off the beautiful ring he had placed upon her finger and held it out to him. “I must not wear this any more,” she said, brokenly; “it means too much to me, and I have loved it so dearly for the sake of what it meant, and I do not wish to even see anything that can remind me of the—the happiness I have lost. Take it and put it away, Earle; but if—if——” She caught her breath quickly, while he felt as if he were turning to stone. “If ever,” she began again, with a great effort, but looking so white and deathly that Earle feared she would drop dead at his feet—“if ever in the future you meet any one whom you think will make you happy, tell her all about our sorrow, Earle, and give her this with—my blessing.” “Oh, Heaven! Editha, do you wish to drive me mad?” he groaned. “Dear Earle, it is hard—I cannot tell you _how_ hard it is for me to say this, but I know that what I tell you will be right for you to do, and—I do want you to be happy.” “Happy! Do you not know that that word will mock me all the remainder of my life?” he cried, with exceeding bitterness. “I hope not, Earle;” and her sweet lips quivered like a grieved child’s. “Do you think you will ever know happiness again, Editha?” Earle asked, almost fiercely, and yet her sad face smote him for the question. “If it is God’s will,” she answered, with a weariness that pierced him to his heart’s core; but in her soul she knew that apart from him the world would never hold any charm for her again. “There are some things in life,” she went on, with mournful sweetness, after a moment, “that we cannot understand—this trial of ours is one of them. I remember reading somewhere that ‘Never morning wore To evening, but some heart did break,’