ho are not saints, she had prevaricated a little occasionally to save
herself or others from some unpleasantness.

In this case no innocent prevarication would serve. Even if she had been
willing to lie, she could think of no excuse which would seem plausible.
Tired as she had been that last night as Annesley Grayle, and throbbing
as she was with excitement at the thought of the new life before her, she
did begin a letter.

It was a feeble effort. She tore it up and essayed another. The second
was worse than the first, and the third was scarcely an improvement.

Discouraged, and so nerve-racked that she was on the point of tears, the
girl put off the attempt. But days passed, and when no inspiration came,
and she was still haunted by the thought of a duty undone, she
compromised by telegraphing from Devonshire. Her message ran:

Dear Friends--

I beg you to forgive me for seeming neglect, but it was not really
that. I am married to a man I love. It had to be sudden. I could not
let you know in time, though I wanted to. I shall not be quite happy
till I've seen you and introduced my husband. Say to your cousin he may
explain as far as he can. When we meet will tell you more. Coming back
to London in fortnight to take house in Portman Square and settle down.
Love and gratitude always. My new name is same as yours.

Annesley Smith.

To this she added her address in Devonshire, feeling sure that, unless
the Archdeacon and his wife were hopelessly offended by her neglect and
horrified at Ruthven Smith's story, they would write.

She cared for them very much, and it would always be a grief, she
thought, that she and Knight had not been married by her old friend.
Every night she prayed for a letter, waking with the hope that the
postman might bring one: and five days after the sending of her telegram
her heart leaped at sight of a fat envelope addressed in Mrs. Smith's
familiar handwriting.

They forgave her! That was the principal thing. And they rejoiced in her
happiness. All explanations--if "dear Annesley wished to make any"--could
wait until they met. The kind woman wrote:

Cousin James Ruthven Smith was loyal to his promise, and gave us no
hint of your news. We did not, of course, know of the promise till
after your telegram came, and we showed it to him. Then he confessed
that he was in your secret; that he had been witness of a scene in
which poor Mrs. Ellsworth made herself more