ek at a
time in connection with it, and I do not know what I should do, in
this strange country away from all my friends, if it were not for my
precious baby girl whom I have named for you, as I promised, in memory
of those happy days which we spent together at Vassar."

"Then mamma's friend had a daughter, who was also named Edith," mused
our fair heroine, breaking in upon her perusal of the letter. "I
wonder if she is living, and where? Those letters tell me nothing,
give no last name by which to identify either the writer or her
husband."

She turned back to the epistle, and read on:

"She is such a comfort to me," it ran, "and gives me an object in
life--something besides myself and my trou"--these last three words
were crossed out--"to think about. When will you come to Rome, dear
Edith? Your last letter was dated from St. Petersburgh. I am very
anxious that you should see your little namesake, and make me that
long-promised visit."

There was scarcely a word in this letter referring to her husband,
except those three crossed-out words; but it overflowed with praises
and love of her beautiful child, although it was evident that the
young wife was far from experiencing the conjugal happiness that had
permeated her previous missives.

There was only one more letter in the package, and Edith's face was
very grave and sympathetic as she drew it from its envelope.

"I am sure that her husband proved to be negligent of and unkind to
her," she murmured, "and that she repented her rashness in leaving her
home and friends. Oh, I wonder why girls will be so foolish and
headstrong as to go directly contrary to the advice of those who love
them best, and run away with men of whom they know comparatively
nothing!"

With a sigh of regret for the unfortunate wife, of whom she had been
reading, she unfolded the letter in her hands and began to read,
little dreaming what strange things she was to learn from it.

"Oh, Edith darling," it began, "how can I tell you?--how can I write
of the terrible calamity that has overtaken me? My heart is broken--my
life is ruined, and all because I would not heed those who loved me,
and who, I now realize, were my best and kindest counselors. I could
bear it for myself, perhaps--I could feel that it was but a just
judgment upon me for my obstinacy and unfilial conduct, and so drag
out my weary existence in submission to the inevitable; but when I
think of my innocent babe--my lovely Edi