He could not forgive Lyttleton at that moment, he felt that he could crush him under foot as he would a viper that had stung this precious little sister, and poisoned two other lives. His own must be dark and dreary without sweet Nell, and what better could hers be, passed in the society of such a wretch, nay, more, in the closest union with him. Alas! alas! hers was the saddest fate of all, and none the less to be pitied because she had in some measure brought it upon herself. In some measure? Ah, was he utterly blameless, Kenneth Clendenin? The question came to him with a sharp pang of self-reproach. He had won her affection, his lips had never breathed a syllable of love. Then who was he that he should be so fierce against this other transgressor? The tempest of emotion had spent itself, and Marian lay pale and exhausted in his arms, trembling like a leaf. Very gently he raised her, and bidding her cling about his neck, bore her in those strong arms to the house, Caius running on before to announce their coming. Mrs. Clendenin met them in the porch, her face full of anxiety and alarm. "Kenneth! what is it?" "She is wearied out now, mother, but will be better soon. Let me lay her in her bed." She had already fallen into the sleep of utter exhaustion. He placed her comfortably on the bed, while the mother drew down the blinds and Caius stretched himself on the floor by her side. "Kenneth, my dear boy, oh, what a comfort to have you here again!" whispered Mrs. Clendenin, as they clasped each other in a long, tender embrace. Leaving Caius to watch the slumbers of their dear one, they withdrew to the sitting-room. "What do you think of her?" There was another, an unspoken question in the mother's pleading anxious eyes. Kenneth's answer to it was, "Let your poor heart be at rest, mother, it is not that." A cloud of care, of deep and sore anxiety lifted from her brow, and she wept tears of joy and thankfulness. "Anything but that," she sighed, "any other burden seems light in comparison with that. But, Kenneth, the child is certainly ill, have you discovered the cause of her malady?" "Yes," he said, "and have brought her a cure which, though it must be painful at first, will, I doubt not, prove effectual in the end." Then he repeated Marian's story, having won her consent that he should do so, and added his own knowledge of Lyttleton. The mother's surprise was not less than his had been, and her tears fell fast over the sorrows of her sweet and gentle child. "I take blame to myself for leaving her alone," she said, "and yet it was what seemed best at the time." "I would not have you do so, mother, dear," he said, gazing tenderly into the patient yet troubled face whereon sorrow and care had left their deep and lasting traces, "no blame rightfully belongs to you; and let me say for your consolation, that if I read her aright, there is one drop of sweetness in this otherwise bitter cup, she will never love again."