“I know Edith is not like her in the least,” he said, “and I will take care to remove her from that influence as soon as possible. Two weeks will not be too soon for our marriage, and when the Atlantic rolls between us I shall be done with Mrs. Barrett forever.” Meantime Mrs. Barrett was on her way to London, and congratulating herself upon the good luck which had not dried the seal of the note the colonel gave her. Had it been otherwise she would have opened it all the same; but Satan, whose servant she certainly was, was playing into her hands, and the envelope held together so slightly that she opened it with perfect ease, and taking out the letter, read it through with an immense amount of satisfaction, as she saw that she could show it to her daughter and not betray herself. “My dear Edith,” it began, “do not think I prize you less on account of anything in the past, though of course I would rather that past had never been; but it is not for me, who have loved and lost a wife, to object because of your early love, whose tragical death affected you so strangely. I trust you will overcome that difficulty in time, and be assured, that both for your sake and my own, I shall never in any way allude to the past, nor is it necessary that I should do so. You have been frank and truthful with me, and I thank you for it, and value you all the more. Had it come to me later, I might have found it harder to overlook than I do now. You are very young, and your concealment from your mother is all I can see for which to blame you in the least. Dear Edith, let it all be as if it never had been, and go with me as my wife. I want you more than ever, and I cannot give you up for a trifle. I will see you to-night and arrange for the wedding, which must take place at once, as I have already been absent too long from home, where I am needed so much, and where there will be a warm welcome for you. “Good-by, darling, till to-night. “Yours, forever, HOWARD SCHUYLER.” Had there been anything in this letter to awaken a suspicion in Edith’s mind of foul play on the part of her mother, Mrs. Barrett would have unhesitatingly withheld it from her and palmed off some story of her own. But there was nothing, and she hastened home to Edith, whom she found sitting listlessly in her room with Gertie Westbrooke’s things everywhere around her, and a look of apathy upon her face, as if she were fully assured of the nature of her mother’s tidings. She knew Colonel Schuyler could not forgive, and now that the die was cast, and her chance for something better than a governess’ life lost forever, as she believed, she was conscious of a feeling of pain and weariness, and her heart cried out for what she must not have.