“What do you mean?” exclaimed Annette, with a startled look upon the countenance of her husband; “indeed I do not understand you, dear Penn.” “Well, my dear girl. I will endeavor to explain myself more clearly,” answered Eccleson. “You are, of course, aware that by your marriage with me, your position in life has wholly changed; you are now raised to a sphere greatly above that from which I took you; and as my wife will henceforth move in none but the highest and most distinguished circles of the city; and therefore, dearest Annette, for my sake as well as for your own, it will be desirable that you forget all old associations as soon as possible.” “I do not understand you even now, I think,” said Annette, smiling sadly. “No, I am sure, dear Penn, I do not take your true meaning—for it cannot be you would have me sacrifice my parents to my new position, to renounce all the fond ties of home! that is not what you mean?” she added with an appealing look. “In a certain sense that _is_ my meaning, love,” answered her husband. “I shall offer no objections to your visiting your excellent parents occasionally, or as your parents of receiving them into my house; but, my sweet Annette, you must study to control your wishes for a very frequent repetition of these family meetings. It may seem impossible to you now, but believe me, dearest, you will soon find so much that is novel and delightful to occupy your thoughts, that you will cease to regret that which appears to afflict you so much at present.” With her little hands clasped upon her bosom, and her eyes gazing almost wildly into his, did Annette listen to the words of her heartless, selfish husband. But there was no resentment, no anger visible in her sweet face; with a sigh which would have moved any heart but his, she said, “I am grieved to hear you speak so, dear Penn; nothing can ever make me forgetful of the ties of nature; you yourself would despise me, if, through the allurements of wealth and fashion, I could be brought to forget those who gave me being. You know you would; say so, dearest Penn—you only wanted to prove me, did you?” and casting one arm fondly around his neck, with a sadly sweet smile she bent her lovely eyes upon him. “Annette, we will not talk of this more at present,” answered her husband; “enough that if you love me, you will, by and bye, better understand and _do_ my meaning.” The first night Annette passed under her husband’s roof was a sleepless one. Her chamber, in its luxurious adornments, might have received a princess—but little did she heed it. The beautiful hangings of pink and silver which swept around the bed—the rich counterpane of white satin which enveloped her lovely form—the downy pillows cased in the finest lace—nor all the splendors which surrounded her, had power for a moment to divert her saddened thoughts, or stay the tears of wounded affection.