I scarcely knew what to say, and by soothings and caressings evaded a direct answer. Altered he surely was; he no longer showed any particular desire to meet her; sometimes a week and more would pass without his coming; while poor Meta rarely omitted an evening. Every night her pale, sad face rested on my shoulder, starting nervously at every noise, and then, when the carriage would come for her at ten o’clock, she would kiss me good-night with trembling lips, and disappointment in her heart; and for an hour after, I would rest my head on my pillow, her glazed and heavy eyes and wretched countenance would come up before me like a spectre. A few mornings after this last conversation I received a visit from the Mrs. Holton who had first told me of the gossip about Mr. Morris and Miss Wilson. She had been absent from town several months, and came in upon us unexpectedly, just as we were arising from a late breakfast. I had not even read the morning paper, which I had in my hand as she entered. “Ah! I suppose, then, you have heard the news,” she said. “Why we rarely hear news, Kate, excepting from you,” replied Aunt Mary. Mrs. Holton laughed, but was evidently too much interested in her new piece of gossip to notice Aunt Mary’s sarcasm. She turned to me with a malicious expression of countenance, and said, “Notwithstanding it interests you so particularly, Enna, you bear it very properly, I must confess.” I stared, as I well might, for I could not understand a word of what she was saying. “What is it you mean, Catharine?” said my aunt, a little decidedly. Mrs. Holton stood a little in awe of Aunt Mary, and said quickly, “Oh, I mean nothing, to be sure; I did not believe the report about Enna when I heard of it this morning, notwithstanding even Mrs. Wilson herself told me Betty had been outrageously jealous of her.” “Mrs. Wilson!—Betty!—jealous of Enna!—what are you talking about, Catharine Holton?” exclaimed Aunt Mary, really angry, “truly that unruly member of yours does make you take strange liberties.” “I only say what every one else says,” said Mrs. Holton, in a piqued tone, “that Mr. Morris’s attentions to Enna, have been the means of his obtaining a rich wife. That newspaper will tell you, if you choose to look at it, that yesterday he eloped with Betty Wilson. The whole affair has been managed admirably; her mother never dreamed of such a thing until the bird had flown. I went to see Mrs. Wilson this morning, as soon as I read it in the paper, and she was raving away at a terrible rate. She says she knew Betty was terribly jealous of you, Enna, all last winter; but she thought it had all blown over, as Betty had not mentioned his name for a long while.”