and if that is so, we are not alone in our sorrow; perhaps all will be well in the end, and we shall live to realize it—let us trust that it may be so. But, Earle, you have a beautiful home, and probably there are long years of useful life before you, but there can be no comfort in a household without a skilful hand to beautify and direct. Do not forget what I say—remember that I even wish it, should the time ever come when you can realize it; and now, Earle,” reaching out her hands with a sob that seemed wrung from her against her will, “good-by—God ever bless and keep you.” His hands dropped suddenly, and the ring rolled to his feet; he had not taken it—he had seemed to have no power; and she, feeling that she could bear no more, turned as if to leave him. He had stood like one stunned while she was speaking. He could not seem to realize that she really meant this for her last, long farewell; but, as she turned from him, he cried out suddenly, in a voice of agony: “Editha! oh, my lost love, do not leave me thus!” She stopped, her head drooping upon her bosom, her hands hanging listlessly by her side. He sprang to her, and, forgetting everything but the pain of the moment, he drew her passionately to his breast. “Editha—my happiness—my love—all that is dearest and best in the world, how can you go away from me so? I cannot bear it. I will not believe this fearful thing that is to rob us of all our bright future.” She lay resistless in his embrace now; it was for the last time, she thought, even if she had not been too weak to move. “Tell me, Editha, is there no way of escape? _Must_ we live out our dreary future, this poisoned arrow corroding in our hearts? Ah! if this terrible tale could be refuted.” “But it cannot, Earle; there is no way but to bear it patiently,” she breathed. “No, there is no other way, for I _know_ that that man is my father, and that fact destroys our every hope. It is hard, my beloved; let me call you so once more; let me hold you close for the last time; let me kiss these dear lips, and touch this shining hair, and then I will go away as you wish. I will not add one pang to what I know you already suffer. Heaven bless you, my weary, stricken one—my lost love.” With one strong arm he held her close against his almost bursting heart, while with his other hand he drew back the shining head until he could look down into the beautiful face that he felt might perhaps be looking his very last upon. His lips lingered upon her hair, touched her forehead with tremulous tenderness, and then, with a sob wrung from the depths of his soul, he pressed one long, passionate kiss upon her lips, gently released her, stooped to pick up the ring she had wished him to have, and then strode from the room. A fortnight later Earle Wayne had returned to Wycliffe sad, almost broken-hearted, and, at twenty-five, deeming life a burden too heavy to be borne.