all my fault; I could not
think or hope he would care for me more than a little time. Well, sir,
I thought over and over again that since his love was gone from me for
ever, I should not stand in his way, and hinder whatever great thing
his family wished for him. So I thought often and often to write him
a letter to get the marriage broken, and to send me home; but for one
reason, I would have done it long ago: there was a little child, his and
mine--the dearest, the loveliest.' She could not go on for a minute or
two. 'The little child that is lying there, on that bed; but it is dead
and gone, and there is no reason NOW why I should delay any more about
it.'

She put her hand into her breast, and took out a letter, which she
opened. She put it into my hands. It ran thus:

'DEAR MASTER RICHARD,
'My little child is dead, and your
happiness is all I care about now. Your marriage with me is displeasing
to your family, and I would be a burden to you, and in your way in the
fine places, and among the great friends where you must be. You ought,
therefore, to break the marriage, and I will sign whatever YOU wish, or
your family. I will never try to blame you, Master Richard--do not think
it--for I never deserved your love, and must not complain now that I
have lost it; but I will always pray for you, and be thinking of you
while I live.'

While I read this letter, I was satisfied that so far from adding to the
poor girl's grief, a full disclosure of what had happened would, on the
contrary, mitigate her sorrow, and deprive it of its sharpest sting.

'Ellen,' said I solemnly, 'Richard O'Mara was never unfaithful to you;
he is now where human reproach can reach him no more.'

As I said this, the hectic flush upon her cheek gave place to a paleness
so deadly, that I almost thought she would drop lifeless upon the spot.

'Is he--is he dead, then?' said she, wildly.

I took her hand in mine, and told her the sad story as best I could. She
listened with a calmness which appeared almost unnatural, until I
had finished the mournful narration. She then arose, and going to the
bedside, she drew the curtain and gazed silently and fixedly on the
quiet face of the child: but the feelings which swelled at her heart
could not be suppressed; the tears gushed forth, and sobbing as if her
heart would break, she leant over the bed and took the dead child in her
arms.

She wept and kissed it, and kissed it and wept again, in gri