"Yes, 'twas the name of my mother's old servant. She stood sponsor for the child when it was baptised. We spent some months of such bliss as it is given to few to know in the cottage at Grasmere, and there I left my bride, and returned to my mother's house framing to my parent what excuse I could for my unwanted and protracted absence. But before I tore myself from my dear one's arms I knew that she bore beneath her bosom the pledge of our mutual love, and I thrilled to think that when next I saw her--for my visits must needs be few--I might clasp our offspring to my breast. "Several months elapsed before I was able to contrive a plausible pretext for absenting myself from home, and during that time my mother never ceased to press upon me the desirability of paying my court to the lady of her choice. She threw us constantly together, and so fearful was I of arousing suspicion in my mother's mind that I affected to share her views, and paid, with what heart I could, my somewhat halting addresses to the not unwilling damsel. But at length the glad day came when, under cover of visiting a college friend in the North, I could take coach for Westmoreland, and you may judge with what eager ardour I made my way to the cottage where I had left my wife--for wife she was in the sight of God, and, I believe, of man. I sped up the garden path as one speeds on the wings of love; the door was locked, the shutters closed, no smoke rose from the chimney, sign of life about the place there was none. Half frantic with fears of I knew not what calamity, I sought the farmer from whom I had rented the house. He told me my wife had sent the key, along with a note to be delivered to me if and when I returned to Grasmere. You will find it there." Again I sought among the contents of the box, and found a letter written in a trembling hand, and blotted with many a tear: "Your tutor has told me all. He says our marriage is no marriage--that you have tricked me by a farce. He tells me, too, that you are to marry Miss ----, and that our continued connection will be your ruin. You have ruined me and broken my poor heart, but I will not stand in the light of your future. May God forgive you. I go to my own people, if they will have me. 'T were better I had known no other.--ESMERALDA." "How I got back to Manchester I cannot tell. I broke in like one bereft of reason upon my mother and that false villain I had so blindly trusted. He sheltered himself behind my mother. She pleaded that all had been done for my best, and that I should live to thank her. In my wrath I cursed her, and swore she should never more be mother of mine, and spurning her from me I fled the house.