, however, think differently. I think
there is a connection, and even an identity; and I think this packet may
be the means of bringing the criminal to justice; and I leave it--a
sacred trust--in your charge, Miriam. Guard it well; guard it as your
only treasure, until it has served its destined purpose. And now,
Miriam, do you know the nature of a vow?"

"Yes, mamma."

"Do you understand its solemnity--its obligation, its inviolability?"

"I think I do, mamma."

"Do you know that in the performance of your vow, if necessary, no toil,
no privation, no suffering of mind or body, no dearest interest of your
life, no strongest affection of your soul, but must be sacrificed; do
you comprehend all this?"

"Yes, mamma; I knew it before, and I have read of Jeptha and his
daughter."

"Now, Miriam, kneel down, fold your hands, and give them to me between
my own. Look into my eyes. I want you to make a vow to God and to your
dying mother, to avenge the death of Marian. Will you bind your soul by
such an obligation?"

The child was magnetized by the thrilling eyes that gazed deep into her
own. She answered:

"Yes, mamma."

"You vow in the sight of God and all his holy angels, that, as you hope
for salvation, you will devote your life with all your faculties of mind
and body, to the discovery and punishment of Marian's murderer; and also
that you will live a maiden until you become and avenger."

"I vow."

"Swear that no afterthoughts shall tempt you to falter; that happen what
may in the changing years, you will not hesitate; that though your
interests and affections should intervene, you will not suffer them to
retard you in your purpose; that no effort, no sacrifice, no privation,
no suffering of mind or body shall be spared, if needful, to the
accomplishment of your vow."

"I swear."

"You will do it! You are certain to discover the murderer, and clear up
the mystery."

The mental excitement that had carried Edith through this scene
subsided, and left her very weak, so that when Thurston Willcoxen soon
after called to see her, she was unable to receive him.

The next morning, however, Thurston repeated his visit, and was brought
to the bedside of the invalid.

Thurston was frightfully changed, the sufferings of the last month
seemed to have made him old--his countenance was worn, his voice hollow,
and his manner abstracted and uncertain.

"Edith," he asked, as he took the chair near her head, "do you fee