Annie went back to school with a heavy heart. She knew that she was keeping a weighty secret from her father. With her hands to her face and tears in her eyes, she stepped from the train. A young man, handsome, clever and spirited-looking came to meet her. “Why, darling, have you been crying, and why? Did you not know that you were coming to your sweetheart, and that he would care for you?” “Aye, dear heart, I know,” sobbed the girl, “but I had to lie to my father, and I love him so dearly, Victor.” “I know that, dearest, but we are going to tell him just as soon as we are married. I cannot wait any longer.” Oh, Annie Benson, beloved of your father, had you only told your handsome lover that you would rather wait until your parent had given his consent, how much better your life would have been, but, woman-like, you could not refuse the man you love. “I wanted to wait,” murmured she softly. “Then you do not love me,” said the lad sadly; “you could not stay away from me for years if you did care for me.” “But, Victor, I do love you, indeed I do, but I love father, too.” “Then you will never be my wife, Annie.” For a moment the girl stood thinking, and even the angels in heaven wondered if she were going to do what was right. She simply turned with the love light shining in her eyes, and laid her hand in his. “My darling, I am yours when you are ready.” “Then let it be to-day. Do not go back to school, but come with me, and you will never regret it.” Regret it? Is there ever a sin in the world committed that the sinner does not regret it? No sooner had the marriage vow been taken, no sooner had Annie Benson promised to love, honor and obey Victor Standish, than she began to regret. “Oh, Victor, I wish father knew,” said she, “and that I was with Martha at school. The girls will all be expecting me.” “And you love the girls better than you do me, your own husband?” “No, no, I love you, Victor, and I will show you what a good wife I can make.” “And we will write to your father and tell him all about it,” said the lad, “and he will forgive, and maybe I can get something to work at in New York. Would you not like to live with him?” “Oh, indeed I would. That is all I am worrying about, for my father loves me devotedly, and I would not wound his feelings for the world.” So a penitent letter, filled with sobbing appeals to forgive her, arrived at the Benson mansion, on Fifth avenue, at the appointed time. The rich man was sitting alone when the butler brought it. He read it and re-read it, and then sat down to think. This child, whom he loved better than his life, had without his consent married some no-account. “Victor, Victor Standish; and who is he, pray?” Then his anger arose, and this is the letter he wrote in reply: “MY DEAR ANNIE: