me, the only ones home, save the
servants. Neither of us had as yet a lover so devoted or so demented
as to come out, if he had anywhere to _stay in_.

On and past went the steps. Turning away, I drew down the blind, and
said: "Some one must be ill, and that was the doctor, surely: for no
one else would go out, only those from direst necessity sent."

A deep sigh escaped Aunt Edna's lips, and although partially shaded by
her hand, I could see the shadow on the beautiful face had deepened.

Why my aunt had never married was a mystery to me, for she was lovable
in every way, and must have been very beautiful in her youth.
Thirty-six she would be next May-day, she had told me. Thirty-six
seemed to me, just sixteen, a very great many years to have lived. But
aunt always was young to us; and the hint of her being an old maid was
always resented, very decidedly, by all her nieces.

"Aunt Edna," I said, "tell us a story--a love-story, please."

"Oh, little one, you have read _so_ many! And what can I tell you
more?" she answered, gently.

"Oh, aunty, I want a _true_ story! Do, darling aunty, tell us your
own. Tell us why you are blessing our home with your presence, instead
of that of some noble man, for noble he must have been to have won
your heart, and--hush-sh! Yes, yes; I know something about somebody,
and I must know all. Do, please!"

I plead on. I always could do more with Aunt Edna than any one else. I
was named for her, and many called me like her--"only not nearly so
pretty" was always added.

At last she consented, saying:

"Dear girls, to only one before have I given my entire confidence,
and that was my mother. I scarce know why I have yielded to your
persuasions, little Edna, save that this night, with its gloom and
rain, carries me back long years, and my heart seems to join its
pleading with yours, yearning to cast forth some of its fulness, and
perchance find relief by pouring into your loving heart its own
sorrows. But, darling, I would not cast my shadow over your fair brow,
even for a brief time."

With her hand still shading her face, Aunt Edna began:

"Just such a night as this, eighteen years ago, dear child, my fate
was decided. The daughter of my mother's dearest friend had been with
us about a year. Dearly we all loved the gentle child, for scarcely
more than child she was--only sixteen. My mother had taken her from
the cold, lifeless form of her mother into her own warm, loving heart,