re in a sort of stupor, conscious only of one
terrible fact--her shame--her ruined life!

She had never dreamed, until within that hour, that she was not the
daughter of those whom she had always known as her father and mother.

She had known that they had gone abroad immediately after their
marriage, and had spent more than a year visiting foreign countries.

She had been told that she was born in Rome, in 18--, and she now
realized that the letters which she had just read had been mostly
written during the same year.

Mrs. Allandale had never meant that she should learn this terrible
secret, and that is why she had been so anxious during her last
moments that the contents of the Japanese box should be destroyed.

Edith wondered why she had kept the letters at all--why she had not
destroyed them immediately upon adopting her, and thus prevented the
possibility of a revelation like this.

To be sure, no one save herself need ever know of the fact unless she
chose to disclose it; nevertheless, she felt just as deeply branded by
it as if all the world had known of it.

"Oh, I had begun to hope that--" she began, then abruptly ceased, a
burning flush suffusing her face as her thoughts thus went out toward
Royal Bryant, whose eyes had only the day before told her, as plainly
as eyes could speak, that he loved her, while her heart had thrilled
with secret joy over the revelation, and the knowledge that her own
affection had been irrevocably given to him, even though they had
known each other so short a time.

Even in the midst of her sorrow over her dead, the thought that she
loved and was beloved had been like the strains of soothing music to
her, and she had looked forward to her return to the young lawyer's
office as to a place of refuge, where she would meet with kindness and
sympathy that would comfort her immeasurably.

But these beautiful dreams had been ruthlessly shattered; she could
never be anything to Royal Bryant--he could never be anything to her,
after learning what she had learned that night.

Edith determined to leave New York at once. With this object in view,
she disposed of most of her furniture to a broker, who gave her sixty
dollars for it. She reserved articles she presented to her stanch
friend, Kate O'Brien. These matters attended to, she wrote a letter to
Mr. Bryant, mailed it, and a few hours later was on the train, en
route to Boston.

On Thursday morning Mr. Bryant, returning to town