, she asked herself, on the very eve of his marriage?

It is never difficult to find cause for anxiety; but it seemed to Abbie
that the misgivings she entertained were reasonable and logical.
Bressant had made up his mind to desert Sophie, because the fortune
which he had all his life considered his own turned out to belong to
another, on whose generosity he was too proud or too suspicious to
depend. He was going off, either to struggle through poverty to a
fortune of his own making, or, giving himself up to his misfortune, to
remain all his life in want and misery; or, perhaps--Abbie did not
openly admit this alternative, but still, knowing what she thought she
did of his nature and the circumstances, the suspicion had
existence--perhaps, in conjunction with a certain evil-disposed person
in New York, he contemplated fraudulently absconding.

Now, Abbie imagined that the key whereby alone all these difficulties
could be unlocked, lay in her own hands. It was a key of which, so long
as her own interest alone had been concerned, she had refused to avail
herself; but, when the welfare of those she loved was called into
question, she made up her mind (in spite of pride--her strongest passion
next to love) to make use of it without hesitation.

When the last guests had taken their departure, Abbie went to her room,
and looked at herself in the glass, by the light of a kerosene-lamp. She
was dressed plainly, though becomingly enough, in black silk; a lace cap
rested on her gray hair; her face was worn and wrinkled, but had a fine
expression about it, that would have recalled former beauty to the
memory of any one who had known her in early life. She was deeply
excited, without being at all nervous, the excitement being so
profoundly rooted as to be really a part of herself.

"Why am I happy?" she asked herself. "No, not because I've buried all my
pride. Because I've found a reason to justify me in burying it: that's
why!"

She went, for the third time that night, to Bressant's door, and this
time turned the latch and pushed it open. He was sitting at his table,
with his head on his arms. His trunk and a large iron-bound box lay
packed and strapped beneath the window, which was thrown wide open. The
rush of air between that and the door roused the young man: he got
slowly to his feet, and came forward.

"I don't want to see you," said he, with a heavy utterance. "I warn you
to go away. You and I had better have nothing