She was very pale, and there were tears in her eyes, but I thought they arose more from a sense of mortification than from any real love which she bore for Herbert Langley, and so I did not pity her as I should otherwise have done. The next morning at breakfast both she and my aunt (particularly the latter) looked weary and worn, as if neither had slept at all during the night. My uncle, on the contrary, seemed to be unmoved. He probably had an opinion of his own, but whatever it was he kept it to himself, merely saying that if the eastern mail brought no letter he would go in quest of them himself. I knew I could not study in my present excitement, and so I asked permission to remain at home. Stationing myself at the window, I watched anxiously for the return of Herod, who, as usual, had been sent to the office. He came at last, bringing his pocket full of letters, two of which were for me, one postmarked Meadow Brook, and the other Albany! With a trembling hand I tore open the latter, which was in my sister’s handwriting. Glancing at the signature, my fears were confirmed, for there stood the name of “Anna Langley” in Herbert’s bold dashing hand! “_She_ had refused to write it thus,” he said, in a postscript, “and so he had done it for her.” The letter contained no apology from either for what they had done, but merely informed me of the fact that instead of stopping in Worcester, they had gone straight on to Albany, which they reached about six o’clock, going to the Delevan House, where in less than an hour they were husband and wife; Herbert’s old comrade, Tom Wilson, accompanying them, and being a witness of the ceremony. What affected me more unpleasantly than all the rest, was the derisive manner in which Herbert spoke of Ada. “Give her my love,” he said, “and tell her not to feel too badly. I’d like well enough to marry her, too, but under the present laws a man can’t have two wives, unless he joins the Mormons. Maybe I shall do that sometime, and then I’ll remember _her_!” Of his mother he wrote differently, and though there was no cringing, no acknowledgment of wrong, he spoke of her kindly and respectfully, saying, “he hoped she would love his Anna for his sake.” Of course I could not tell Ada what he said of her, neither was it necessary, for guessing the truth from my face, she came up softly behind me, and looking over my shoulder, read every word until she came to the message intended for her. Then stamping her little foot, she exclaimed passionately, “The villain, to insult me thus! As if _I_, sprung from the best blood in Georgia, would stoop to become a rival of that low-born country girl. No! By this act Herbert Langley has shown that he is all unworthy of me, and I rejoice in my escape, while I give him much joy with his highly refined and polished bride.”