wife thinking it a great honor to the
family, and in her poor mother's heart, no doubt, praying that the good
man might so soften her proud daughter's heart that she might be
bettered, and eventually led to the source of all good.

Whether he did or not, if the reader of this book could have followed
the couple up the winding river to a secluded spot where the golden
maple-leaves fell upon the stream and were borne away in silence,
whatever of mad passion or reckless guilt might have been discovered,
just before they stepped into the boat to float with the tide back to
the dishonored home, a certain Rev. Mr. Bland might have been seen
placing in Lilly Nettleton's shameless hand a roll of bills, and heard
to say to the same person:

"Be sure, now--next Sunday night. Row down to Kalamazoo in this boat,
and take the late night train for Detroit. Go to the Michigan Exchange
Hotel, where I will meet you Monday evening!"

So the little neighborhood had had its "religious supply," but had also
had its loss; for, as the weird moonlight of the next Sunday evening
fell upon the quiet log farm-house, built strange forms among the
moaning, almost leafless trees, and pictured upon the river's bosom a
thousand ghostly figures, the scared form of a young woman stole away
from her home, glided to the murmuring stream, sprang into the little
boat, and was borne away to the hell of her future just as noiselessly
but just as resistlessly as the river itself pushed onward to the great
lakes, and was swept from thence to the ultimate, all-absorbing sea!

CHAPTER III.

Lilly in Detroit.-- First and last Remorse.-- The reverend
Villain and his Victim enjoy the Hospitality of the
Michigan Exchange Hotel.-- A Scene.-- "Bland, am I to go
to your Mother's, as you promised?"-- The Clergyman(?)
"crazed."-- Everything, save Respectability.-- A Woman's
Will-- And a Man's Cajolement.

To the imagination of the wayward country girl Detroit was a great city,
and as she was whirled into the depot, where she saw the rushing river
beyond, and was hustled hither and thither by the clamorous cabmen, a
sense of giddiness came upon her, and for the first, and undoubtedly
last time, she yearned for the quiet of the old log farm-house by the
pleasant river.

Perhaps the old forms and faces called to her imploringly, pleading with
her, as only the simple things of home, however plain and commonplace,
can plead wi