There was a pitiful sound in Aunt Jerry’s voice, and it brought the tears to Edna’s eyes, but before she could speak, Aunt Jerry went on. “I am glad for you, child; it’s the ordained way to marry, and you’ve got a good man, I believe, and you’ll be happy with him. You think, of course, old Aunt Jerusha don’t know what it is to love, but I do. I was nearer once to being married than you are now; so near, that the day was set, and my wedding dress was made, and my hot temper got the better of me, and we quarrelled about a trivial thing, and I wouldn’t yield an inch, and got so mad at last that I vowed I’d never marry him, and I never have, and we have lived our lives alone, he in his way, I in mine.” “Oh, auntie, I never suspected such a thing; and he is living yet, you say, and maybe sometime—you’ll—” “No we shan’t,” and Aunt Jerry spoke quickly. “I ain’t such a fool as that. We have not met in thirty years, and the sight of me now would make him sick at the stomach. I was young then, and not bad-looking either; now I’m old and wrinkled, and hard and gray, and he is old, and fat, and queer, and pussy, I have no doubt. No, child, don’t build castles for me. Be happy yourself and I am satisfied.” She stroked Edna’s hair softly for a moment, and then said abruptly but kindly, “There, now, you’ve got just what you wanted; be off to bed. Don’t you see it is going on to twelve o’clock.” So Edna left her with a good-night kiss, and stole up to her room, there to muse over her own great happiness, and to think of the story Aunt Jerry had told her of her early love affair, which terminated so disastrously. Who, and where was the man, she asked herself without ever a thought of the truth, and while speculating upon it, and thinking how queer it seemed that Aunt Jerry was ever young and had a lover like herself, she fell asleep and dreamed that the lover was Mr. Freeman Burton! CHAPTER XLVIII. MRS. CHURCHILL AND EDNA. It was Saturday morning, and Mrs. Churchill was feeling very lonely and desolate, and missing her late companion more than she did Roy. “It is strange how she has grown into my love, and how much she is to me,” she said softly to herself, as she feared that her dress was not quite as it should be, and her hair somewhat awry. She had depended altogether upon Miss Overton to care for her personal appearance, and felt her absence more sensibly for it. “A letter, ma’am,” her maid said, bringing it in and placing it in her hand. Mrs. Churchill was sure that Roy had written nothing which a third person might not see, so she asked her maid to read it, and listened with a strange feeling to what Roy said of Edna. “Thanks: you may go now,” she said to her maid, who went out and left her alone. Roy would be there Monday night, and with him Charlie’s wife.