owever, that she could not remain there any
longer--that she must find a place for herself in a different
locality and among a different class of people. This she knew she
could do, since she had the promise of permanent work and now had only
herself to care for.

The change, too, must be made upon the following day, as Mr. Bryant
would expect her at his office on Thursday morning.

There was much to be done, many things to be packed for removal, while
what she did not care to retain must be disposed of; and, eager to
forget her grief and loneliness--for she knew she would be ill if she
sat tamely down and allowed herself to think--she began at once, upon
her return from the cemetery, to get ready to leave the cheerless home
where she had suffered so much.

She decided, first of all, to pack all wearing apparel; and, on going
to her closet to begin her work, the first thing her eyes fell upon
was the casket of letters, which her mother had requested her to bring
to her just before she died.

The sight of this unnerved her again, and, with a moan of pain, she
sank upon her knees and bowed her head upon it.

But the fountain of her tears had been so exhausted that she could not
weep; and, finally becoming somewhat composed, she took the beautiful
box out into the room and sat down near a light to examine its
contents.

"Mamma evidently wanted these letters destroyed," she murmured, as she
threw back the cover. "I will do as she wished, but I will first look
them over, to be sure there is nothing of value among them."

She set about her task at once and found that they were mostly
missives from intimate friends, with quite a number written by herself
to her mother, while she was away at boarding-school.

All these she burned after glancing casually at them. Nothing then
remained in the box but a small package of six or eight time-yellowed
epistles bound together with a blue ribbon.

"What peculiar writing!" Edith observed, as she separated one from
the others and examined the superscription upon the envelope. "Why, it
is postmarked Rome, Italy, away back in 18--, and addressed to mamma
in London! That must have been when she was on her wedding tour!"

Her curiosity was aroused, and, drawing the closely-written sheet from
its inclosure, she began to read it.

It was also dated from Rome, and the girl was soon deeply immersed in
a story of intense and romantic interest.

She readily understood that the letter