In her younger days she had been abandoned by the only man she had ever loved, and wed to a man whom she never loved, whom she could not even esteem. She had sworn to love her husband; she had fairly tried, and wholly failed. To her husband she had been a blameless wife, an admirable companion. He had signified his approval of her conduct by leaving her his fortune. All her lifetime she had been too proud to care for money, and now she could not take it. Her father had prevented her marrying the good-for-nothing, beggarly scamp, Tom Blake, and forced her into the arms of the elderly, rich, excellent Mr. Louis Davenport. In those days she had been torn by tempests of love and hate, of aspirations and despairs, which no mortal eye had seen, no mortal ear had heard. In the solitude of her own room, and of the woods about her father's home, she had wept and stormed, and pitied herself with the broken-hearted self-pity of youth. She had cast herself against the bars that confined her, and wished that the fury which shook her might end her. She had prayed in vain for death. In answer to her passionate appeals for a shroud, heaven sent her a bridal veil. When Blake gave her up, she did not care whether she walked into an open grave or up to the marriage altar. She took no interest in herself: why should she take interest in any one else? If Blake had asked her to fly with him then, she would have rushed into his arms with unspeakable eagerness and joy. But he sold his claim to her for a sum of money, and walked off with the cash in his pocket! She then knew she was beautiful--one of the most beautiful women in the country. Many men had sought her before Blake asked her for her love. But up to his coming she was heart-whole. She had never seriously considered any man. She thought little of the sex, of the race, herself included. She took but a weak interest in this world, and, up to the advent of her only sweetheart, would have stepped out of it any day without much reluctance. She was a dreamer, and told herself the hero of her dreams was not human. Then came Tom Blake, and forth went her whole heart to him. She gave him all the love she had to give. She told him her life had hitherto been dull, without expectation, hope, love, sunlight; but that, as he was now with her, and would, in spite of all opposition, be beside her all her life, her soul was filled with ineffable hope, with delicious love, and the dream-romance of her life had taken substantial form, which would be a thousand times sweeter than she had ever dared to figure in her thoughts. Her lover had no money. He had lost his patrimony. Her father had nothing to give her, and---- And what? How was it to be? How could they live on nothing? She had been brought up a lady, but her father was hopelessly in debt--over head and ears in debt--and if he were ever so willing to do so, he was powerless to help them now, and could leave them nothing later.