“Paul Burton, of Pine Island. The name was given to the farm many years ago. It is a beautiful farm enclosed by the forest, and there is a little lake on it; and in the center pine trees are growing. I was out with cousin and he took me by there.” Nettie was speaking with enthusiasm and hearing her mother repeating the name she turned and noticing her mother’s pale face said, “Mother, what ails you? Are you sick?” “No, Nettie, the name sounds familiar. What kind of a looking man is this Paul Burton, and what is his age?” asked the mother. “He is tall—about six feet—well proportioned, his eyes are dark blue, and he has auburn hair, and is a picture to behold,” answered Nettie. “Blue eyes and auburn hair; did his hair curl?” asked her mother. “Yes,” answered Nettie, “and he is about twenty-two or three. He lives alone with his mother, who is a frail, sickly woman.” “Did you ever see her?” “No, mother, but cousin says she is tall and dark complexioned, with black eyes, and her given name is Margaret or Margretia, I do not know which.” “It is the same woman and must be their son. Oh, my God! why have I come to this?” exclaimed Mrs. Spaulding. “Why, mother, what is the matter, and who are you referring to?” asked Nettie, noticing her mother’s pale face. “My child, one you never saw—and I hope you may never meet him or any of his descendants.” “Why, mother. His descendants should not be cruelly judged by his conduct. You speak as though he had been guilty of some great criminal act. I do not see what he has to do with Paul Burton, the young man I was speaking of,” said Nettie, turning and looking out of the window. “If I had known it would have troubled you, mother, I would not have told you anything about him. You seemed so anxious to know why I returned so soon I thought it proper to tell you all. The young man was supposed rich and I was a poor girl with only my good name to sustain. I deemed it best to try his love. If he loves me sincerely he will find me; if he does not, it is better I should be far away. Do you not think my act justifiable, mother?” “Yes, my child, you did what is right and proper, and I am glad you came home, and I hope my conjecture is not true,” answered the mother sorrowfully. Nettie went to her mother and pressed a kiss on her pure fair brow. She had passed through many severe trials, yet she remained beautiful—only a trifle pale. Time made little impression upon the fair form of the once beautiful Minnie Hilton, one of old England’s fair daughters. “Nettie, I have a long story to tell you. It might prove a good lesson to you in the future, as you are young and inexperienced in this world of sunshine and shadow, and you may draw conclusion from the story. “My child. I hope you will not have to endure the troubles and sorrows like the lady of whom I am going to speak.”