ness of marriage has been forgotten. I believe
with you that it is a little less than crime to marry when no love
exists--that she who does so, sells her heart's birthright for some
mess of pottage, sinks down from the pure level of noble womanhood, and
traffics away her person, is henceforth meaner in quality if not really
vile.

"And so, my father, to save myself from such a depth of degradation and
misery, I take my destiny into my own hands. I have grown very strong in
my convictions and purposes in the last four weeks. My sight has become
suddenly clear. I am older by many years.

"As for George Granger, all I can now say is that I love him, and
believe him to be worthy of my love. I am willing to trust him, and am
ready to share his lot, however humble.

"Still hold me in your heart, my precious father, as I hold you in mine.

"EDITH."

Mr. Dinneford read this letter twice. It took him some time, his eyes
were so full of tears. In view of her approaching marriage with Spencer
Wray, his heart had felt very heavy. It was something lighter now. Young
Granger was not the man he would have chosen for Edith, but he liked him
far better than he did the other, and felt that his child was safe now.

He went to his wife's room, and found her with Edith's letter crushed in
her hand. She was sitting motionless, her face pale and rigid, her eyes
fixed and stony and her lips tight against her teeth. She did not seem
to notice his presence until he put his hand upon her, which he did
without speaking. At this she started up and looked at him with a kind
of fierce intentness.

"Are you a party to this frightful things?" she demanded.

Mr. Dinneford weakly handed her the letter he had received from Edith.
She read it through in half the time it had taken his tear-dimmed eyes
to make out the touching sentences. After she had done so, she stood for
a few moments as if surprised or baffled. Then she sat down, dropping
her head, and remained for a long time without speaking.

"The bitter fruit, Mr. Dinneford," she said, at last, in a voice so
strange and hard that it seemed to his ears as if another had spoken.
All passion had died out of it.

He waited, but she added nothing more. After a long silence she waved
her hand slightly, and without looking at her husband, said,

"I would rather be alone."

Mr. Dinneford took Edith's letter from the floor, where it had dropped
from his wife's hand, and withdrew from her presenc