parture of the
greater portion of the wealthy, during the unhealthy season, had
deprived her of those she had been able to obtain. She thought of
going out as a daily governess, but the feeble health and deep
dejection of her mother, offered an insuperable objection to such an
arrangement. When she left her alone even for an hour, she usually
found her in such a state of nervous excitement on her return, as was
painful to behold.

Edith is seated near the only window of their sordid apartment in the
afternoon of a sultry summer day; the sun is shining without with
overpowering splendor; a heated vapor rises from the paved streets and
seems to shimmer in the breathless atmosphere. Edith had lost all the
freshness and roundness of youth; her cheek was deadly white, and her
emaciated form seemed to indicate the approach of the terrible disease
of which her brother had died. She was sewing industriously, and her
air of weariness and lassitude betrayed the strong mastery of the
spirit over the body, in the continuance of her employment.

Mrs. Euston was lying on the bed; and twenty years seemed to have
passed over her since the night of her son's death. The oppressive
heat had induced her to remove her cap, and her long hair, white as
the snows of winter, lay around her wasted and furrowed features. From
infancy the respect and observance due to one of high station had been
bestowed upon her, and the reverse in their fortunes was more than she
could bear. At first, her high-toned feelings had shrunk from
obligations to the new heir, and she approved of Edith's rejection;
but as time passed, amid privations to which she had never been
accustomed, her very soul revolted against their miserable mode of
living.

To a woman of refined feelings and vivid imagination, the coarse and
sordid realities around her were sufficiently heart-sickening, without
having the terrible fear forced upon her that her only child was
hurrying to the grave through her exertions to keep them literally
from starvation. Her daughter now thought she slept, but her mind was
far too busily occupied to permit the sweet influences of slumber to
soothe her into a momentary forgetfulness of her bitter grief.
Suddenly she unclosed her eyes, and spoke.

"Edith, my child, lay aside that work--such constant employment is
destroying you. Is it not time that we heard from Robert Barclay?
Surely he will not be relentless, when he hears that your health is
faili