“Yes, yes--I know,” was the impatient retort. “You would like to lecture and pity me. It is to avoid this that I go out and wander in the streets and parks till utter exhaustion drives me home. I do not need you to tell me that I have my deserts. I know that my eagerness to marry a man who would make me wealthy, and give me all the social advantages I craved for, has brought me to what I am. Is there a person I pass in my wanderings who does not stare after me and whisper: ‘There goes the woman who tries to prove herself the wife of Mason, the defaulter--Mason, the rogue’?” Susan would have spoken, but she was checked with an imperative: “Hush! I want Miss Heriton to tell me all she heard that morning.” Florence instantly related every detail connected with her visit to Lieutenant Mason’s chambers, feeling the while that the deserted wife would gain no information from this bare narrative, yet unwilling to offend her by appearing to withhold anything. “Gilbert--the servant you saw--has disappeared,” commented Julia, when she paused. “There is nothing to be learned from him. But this gentleman--who is he?” “I cannot tell you,” was the truthful answer. “But you heard his name--surely you heard his name? Don’t deceive me, Miss Heriton.” “I would not do so for worlds! But when I tell you that there was a certain something about his voice and gestures which seemed familiar to me, I have told all I know. I did not hear his name mentioned.” Julia’s lips quivered, and the large drops of mental suffering stood upon her brow. “I could have borne desertion, for my husband has taught me to despise him; but he has left the brand of shame upon me, and I cannot shake it off. He knew that I could not prove our marriage.” There was such profound misery in her accents that Florence and Susan both moved toward her--indeed, the latter had been always gentle and patient with her wayward relative, striving by increasing her own labors to prevent Julia enduring any straits from the loss of her pupils--but they were coldly repulsed. “There is only one thing in the world you can either of you do for me now, and that is to prove my innocence to those who have maligned me, if ever it lies in your power.” The promise was readily given, Florence adding: “But let us hope that Lieutenant Mason will yet repent his conduct, and return to you.” “I have left off hoping,” said Julia, with a wan smile, as she threw her shawl over her arm and retreated to the inner room. She came back directly with a tiny locket in her hand. “I think I heard that you are going to leave this neighborhood, Miss Heriton. Will you wear this sometimes in remembrance of Julia Mason?” Before Florence could accept or reject the gift she had passed to her cousin, and, laying her hands on her shoulders, looked sorrowfully in her face. “If I were only like you, Susan--only good, patient, and contented as you have been!”