“During the absence of her guardian, who had gone with a party to the springs, she fled from the house, and in her helplessness sought a home wherever it could be found. This rash step the poor child had taken to escape a disgraceful expulsion from the house of her guardian. With no marriage certificate, for, thoughtless wretch that I was, it still remained in my possession, and unable to find proofs for herself that she was a wife, the poor girl wandered off, hoping to get shelter somewhere till I returned. She was willing to face poverty, but not the woman from whom no pity was ever to be expected for weakness or disobedience. “The letters I have with me still. The latest, you will see, are written at and dated from Bellevue. After following me from place to place, they reached me here covered with post-marks. Read them, George,—I cannot; every word is written in fire upon my soul.” Louis turned away his pale face and shrouded his eyes as his brother read. CHAPTER LVIII. LOUISA’S LETTERS. My husband:—Once again I write to you from the depths of a weary heart, without hope, without a belief that you will ever see my letter, but I must speak to you before I die! for it seems to me impossible to live and face that woman. I wrote to you again and again, Louis. I told you of the terrible strait to which I was driven. I appealed to you from the depths of my humiliation. I besought you to give back my secret and send the proofs of our marriage before it was too late—before disgrace fell upon me, and the shelter of a respectable roof was taken from over my head. “You did not answer. Day after day I waited, day after day I stole like a thief to the post-office, and read over, name by name, the list of advertised letters, hoping against convictions that yours had been overlooked in the delivery. None came. Oh! if you could think how desolate I grew; all alone, so young, so full of dark foreboding—I feared the proud woman to whose guardianship my brother had left me. Her black eyes seemed to follow me everywhere. I trembled at the sound of her footsteps. In my dreams, her presence overshadowed me till my brain ached with the oppression. “One night she came to me in my chamber. I was in bed weeping, but she did not seem to hear it. The light was dim, and my face turned to the wall. Possibly she did not know how wretched I was. “‘You seem sad and depressed,’ she said; ‘is it because you have no companion in the house? or are you pining over the absence of your brother and friend?’ “I tried my best to answer steadily, but the tears would come; for her manner was strangely kind, and, for the first time in my life, I longed to throw my arms around her neck and ask her to pity me. “I am not quite well,’ I said; ‘the study is hard, and I cannot bear so much as some girls.’ “‘How would you like to go into the country a while?’ she asked.