"Four or five years ago he wrote me a letter. He was then master of Sunnyside, for the old man left it to him after all. He was lonely there, he said, and he asked a reconciliation. Had he never struck me, I might have gone, for his letter was kindly enough, but the blow was a barrier between us, so I refused to listen, and exulted over the thought of his living there alone all his days, with the secret on his mind. "The sweetest morsel of all in the cup of revenge was, however, for a time withheld, but it came at last, Rosamond. It came at last. He loved a beautiful young girl, loved her all the more that he could not marry her." She drew nearer to Rosamond, who, though still unsuspecting, trembled from head to foot with an undefinable emotion of coming evil. "I saw her, Rosamond; saw this young girl with his name upon her lips when waking--saw her, too, with his name upon her lips when sleeping, and all this while she did not dream that I, the so-called Marie Porter, was his wife, the barrier which kept him from saying the words her little heart longed so to hear." There were livid spots on Rosamond's neck--livid spots upon her face, and still she did not move from her seat, though her clammy hand clutched nervously her bridal dress. A _horrid_ suspicion had flashed upon her, but with a mighty effort she threw it off as injustice to Mr. Browning, and mentally crying, "It cannot be," she faintly whispered, "Go on." "The summer I met her," said Miss Porter, I was at Cartersville, a little out-of-the-way place on a lake--" "You're telling me true?" interrupted Rosamond, joy thrilling in her tones. "Yes, true," returned Miss Porter. "Then bless you--bless you for those last words," rejoined Rosamond, burying her face in her companion's lap. "A terrible fear for a moment came over me, that it might be _I_. But it isn't. _I_ met you at the Springs. Oh, if it had been me, I should most surely die." "But _she_ did not--the young girl," resumed Miss Porter. "She had a brave, strong heart, and she bore up wondrously. She felt that he had cruelly deceived her, and that helped her to bear the blow. Besides, she was glad she knew of it in time, for, had he married her, she would not have been his wife, you know." Rosamond shuddered and replied, "I know, but my heart would have broken all the same. It aches so now for her. But go on, how did she find it out? Who could have strength to tell her?" There was a pause, and each could hear the beating of the other's heart. The November wind had risen within the last half hour, and now howled dismally past the window, seeming to Rosamond like the wail that young girl must have uttered when she first learned how her trust had been betrayed. _The clock struck four!_ Rosamond counted each stroke, and thought, "One hour more, and _he_ will be here." Marie counted each stroke, and thought, "One hour more, and I must be gone."