"But now, for the first time in my life, I met opposition. My father and mother, foolishly fond and proud of their only child, considered it quite beneath me to marry an untitled foreigner. They talked as though royalty itself might be honored by an alliance with me. This opposition naturally fixed my determination to marry the man of my choice, notwithstanding all obstacles. I instantly invested him with the whole catalogue of virtues and when, added to these, sadness on his part proved his undying attachment, I made a martyr of him,— a martyr dying for my love. "Under these circumstances I gave my parents no rest. My lover offered letters to prove that he was worthy; and at length, worn out by my entreaties and my evident loss of bloom, father did secretly write to a friend in London, requesting him to ascertain from Mr. Post, banker in that city, in regard to his position and prospects. "This it was easy to do through correspondents from the London Banking House, and the result was so satisfactory, both as to character and wealth, that my friend was allowed to renew his visits, which speedily terminated in my betrothal. I have often thought since, that, had my parents allowed the acquaintance to proceed at first without opposition, all would have ended differently; for as the intimacy advanced, even before our marriage, I discovered certain traits which greatly annoyed me. "I had been accustomed to the expression of admiration, and enjoyed it; but I was faithful and true to my lover. He considered the looks and tones of flattery an insult both to me and to him. He constantly urged our immediate union; but to this my parents would not consent, except on one condition. Until I was twenty-one, my home must be with them. On my eighteenth birthday, with the reluctant consent of all my relatives, I became a wife. For a month or two I was very happy. I found my husband intelligent, with a cultivated mind, and a kind heart. We were alone in a villa belonging to my grandfather, and proved so sufficient for mutual happiness that I returned home with great regret. Oh, that we had never returned!" Marion had been so absorbed in the recital that she had failed to notice the increasing pallor of the narrator. Struck with the intense sadness of the last tone, she started to find her visitor sinking back in her chair, her lips blanched, her hands trembling. Throwing aside her work, she ran to her chamber for cologne, with which she bathed the forehead and hands of the lady, then rang for James to bring her a cup of fresh coffee. She insisted that Mrs. Douglass should rest before she continued her interesting story; but the lady, with a sigh, urged,— "I may never have so favorable an opportunity to finish. My sad tale is nearly ended, and I shall be greatly relieved when I have told my only American friend my folly and my punishment; so resume your work, and let me end the recital as briefly as possible." CHAPTER XIX. TEARS OF REPENTANCE.