“No, madam, she did not forget it; and because you had abandoned me because of her knowledge that I was friendless, she made me a drudge. I was not strong; the work broke me down. Oh! aunt, I was heart-sick, and ready to fall down on my knees with gratitude for the least breath of kindness, and—and——” “Well,” said the aunt, looking coldly up, as the poor girl paused, her eyes full of tears, her lips quivering. “There was one noble person who _was_ kind to me, so kind that I could not help loving him, aunt.” Catharine said this in a low voice, and trembling from head to foot. “_Him!_” cried the aunt, half-starting from her lounge, “him, a man! Shameless girl! how dare you talk of a love like that in my presence?” “Aunt, I have not another creature to love on earth.” “And who told you—who compelled you to love at all? It is an indecorous word.” “And yet ‘God is love!’” answered Catharine, lifting her soft eyes, misty with tearfulness, while her lips unconsciously pronounced the quotation. “Don’t quote Scripture here in this infamous fashion; don’t talk to me of love. What right had you to love any one but Madame De Marke herself? Thank heaven! I never found it necessary to love any one.” “But _I_,” answered the girl, with the most profound humility, “_I_ had no other happiness. I never knew what it was to love myself, till he told me how dear, how beautiful I was to him.” The aunt arose and stood up. Her dress fell in rustling folds to the floor, her black eyes flashed fiercely. “How dare you—infamous girl, how dare you? Leave the house!” “No, aunt, I am not infamous. He loved me, and I, oh! how truly I loved him. We were married, aunt; as honorably married as you and my uncle were. Do not call me infamous; I will not endure it.” The aunt sat down again, wondering at the strange beauty that lighted up that young face, almost touched by the passionate speech, for she could understand all the pride that was in it, though pathos and appeal were lost upon her. “Speak a little more moderately, if you have anything to say; and if you are truly married, tell me how, and when. I’m sure it would give me great pleasure to have you well settled and off my hands. Who is the man you are talking about?” “Young De Marke,” answered the girl, drawing close to her aunt, and speaking in a whisper; “but do not let any one know; he said I might tell you, but no person else.” “Catharine Lacy, this is a shameful falsehood, or young De Marke is base beyond anything I ever heard of. Wretched girl, I have quite as good proof as you can bring that you are not his only victim. But where is this man now?” “He is away. I have not seen him since last fall. He does not know how miserable I am. Aunt, dear aunt, have pity on me; I have just come from the hospital—my poor baby is dead and buried.” “Hospital! what hospital? Not Bellevue? not the Almshouse?”