“I don’t need to tell you much about her, then.” “No, you do not. I have known her from the cradle up. A better girl or woman was never raised on the hills. She was a rollicking, laughing, singing sunbeam, and never a thought of wrong in it all. Many a heart has been tangled in those brown curls of hers, though. It seems strange to me now, as I look back, that I was not one of the victims; but, then, we were too much like a sister and brother for that.” There was a pause, broken by Mr. Hulbert. “She made an early and unfortunate marriage, I believe?” “Yes; she left the hills, and came down into this dull valley. She brought the sparkle of the mountain brook, and the melody of the bobolinks with her. Wherever she went there was a ripple of laughter, a burst of sunshine, a peal of music. Such a girl could not be without admirers. She had plenty of them. And then,--what did she do? Deliberately picked out the worst one in the whole lot,--a drunken libertine, a man with whom scarcely any other respectable woman would be seen crossing the street.” “Why did she do it?” “I cannot tell. Some thought it was because he had more money than her other admirers, but that may have been unjust to her. Whatever the reason, she had plenty of reason to regret her decision when it was too late.” “And then?” queried Hulbert, as Wycliff remained silent for several minutes, and showed no disposition to resume the conversation. “Just what might have been expected. The scoundrel cared nothing for her and was soon running after other women, just as though he had no wife, to whom he had vowed fidelity. They had children,--two of them, and she remained several years for her children’s sake. But it became more than flesh and blood could endure. He was continually abusing her, in the hope that she would leave him. When I was a boy I heard of a man who turned his son out of doors, and then whipped him for leaving home. Lena’s husband was just about as consistent as that. He treated her so contemptibly, that if she had not left him, she must have gone crazy. Then he said that his wife ‘could not have had much love for the children, else she would not have left them;’--the lying wretch. I have lived in places where he would have had a coat of tar and feathers.” “And then?” pursued Mr. Hulbert, who seemed anxious to have Wycliff continue. “Well, not exactly what the villain had been planning for. He expected to secure a divorce for desertion, and to marry another woman who had attracted his wandering affections, but his wife secured the divorce, and the care of the children.” “And now,” said Hulbert, in a low tone of voice, “an honest man who actually loves her, will find it very difficult to convince her of his loyalty to her.” Wycliff glanced up quickly. “You are an admirer of Lena?”