r on the way, and had been
long delayed in getting home. But the long wait had been a great strain
upon Anne. Lincoln, meanwhile, had become the postmaster in New Salem,
and it was to him that Anne came to inquire for letters. He watched her
anxiety with sympathy, and in a way became her confidant. His tender
heart, which never could resist suffering, was deeply touched at sight
of her distress. Finally McNeill's letters ceased altogether; and then
Anne confided to Lincoln something which McNeill had told her before he
left, and which until now she had kept secret,--namely, that his name
was not McNeill but McNamar. He had explained to her that he had made
this change because his father had failed in business and that as his
oldest son it was his duty to retrieve the family fortunes. So he had
changed his name, and come West, hoping to return in a few years to his
family a rich man. All this Anne had believed, and had not repeated
until now.

All New Salem joined in declaring McNamar an impostor and his story a
fabrication. "Who knew how many wives he had?" they said. With one
accord Anne's friends denounced him; and although his story turned out
afterward to be not altogether false, it is small wonder that Anne
herself at last came to believe that either he was dead or had ceased to
love her.

While matters were in this state, Lincoln ventured to show his love for
Anne. It was a long time before she would listen; but, convinced at last
that her former lover had deserted her, she promised, in the spring of
1835, to become his wife. But Lincoln had nothing on which to support a
family,--in fact, could hardly support himself. Besides, Anne was
anxious to go to school another year. So it was decided that she should
spend the winter in an academy in Jacksonville, while Lincoln devoted
himself to the study of the law. Then, when she should return from
school, he would be a member of the bar and they could be married.

A happy spring and summer followed. All their friends took an interest
in the lovers, and their prospects seemed bright. But Anne's health
began to fail. She could not rid herself of her haunting memories. There
was a possibility that she had wronged McNamar. What if he should love
her still, and should return and find her wedded to another? Had she
wronged both men? In her thoughts was perpetual conflict. The old love
still persisted. Her conscience troubled her. She doubted, and was
morbidly melancholy. Al