not right in regard to Mary."

"But she certainly could not be induced to go away with any one--in
a word, to marry clandestinely."

"I should hope not. But one so innocent and unsuspecting as
Mary--one with so much natural goodness of character--is most easily
led away by the specious and designing, who can easily obscure their
minds, and take from them their own freedom of action. For this
reason, we should have guarded her much more carefully than we have
done."

For two hours longer did the anxious parents wait and watch for
Mary's return, but in vain. They then retired to take a brief but
troubled repose.

Early on the next morning, in going into Mary's room, her mother
found a letter for her, partly concealed among the leaves of a
favourite volume that lay upon her table. It contained the
information that she was about to marry Mr. Fenwick, and gave Mrs.
Martindale as authority for the excellence of his character: The
letter was written on the previous day, and the marriage was to take
place that night.

With a stifled cry of anguish, Mrs. Lester sprang down the stairs,
on comprehending the tenor of the letter, and, placing it in the
hands of her husband, burst into tears. He read it through without
visible emotion; but the intelligence fell like a dead, oppressive
weight upon his heart--almost checking respiration. Slowly he seated
himself upon a chair, while his head sank upon his bosom, and thus
he remained almost motionless for nearly half an hour, while his
wife wept and sobbed by his side.

"Mary," he at last said, in a mournful tone--"she is our child yet."

"Wretched--wretched girl!" responded Mrs. Lester; "how could she so
fatally deceive herself and us?"

"Fatally, indeed, has she done so! But upon her own head will the
deepest sorrow rest. I only wish that we were altogether guiltless
of this sacrifice."

"But may it not turn out that this Mr. Fenwick will not prove so
unworthy of her as we fear?--that he will do all in his power to
make her happy?"

"Altogether a vain hope, Mary. He is evidently not a man of
principle, for no man of principle would have thus clandestinely
stolen away our child--which he could only have done by first
perverting or blinding her natural perceptions of right. Can such an
one make any pure-minded, unselfish woman happy? No!--the hope is
altogether vain. He must have been conscious of his unworthiness, or
he would have come forward like a man and asked for he