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“Pardon me that I have so long remained a burden upon you. Had I known where to go, or what to do, I would not have added my weight to the heavy ones you have had to bear. Daily have I lived in hope that my husband would return. But my heart is sick with hope deferred. It is time now that I began the work of self-dependence.”

“Where can you go?” asked Mrs. Darlington.

“I know not,” sadly returned Mrs. Marion. “My only relative is a poor aunt, with scarcely the ability to support herself. But I will see her to-day. Perhaps she can advise me what to do.”

When Mrs. Marion returned from this visit to her aunt, she looked very sad. Mrs. Darlington was in the passage as she came in; but she passed her without speaking, and hurried up to her chamber. Neither at tea time on that evening nor at breakfast time on the next morning did she appear, though food for herself and children was sent to her room. Deeply did Mrs. Darlington and her daughters suffer on account of the step they were compelled to take, but stern necessity left them no alternative. During the day, Mrs. Marion went out again for an hour or two, and when she came back she announced that she would leave on the next day. She looked even sadder than before. Some inquiries as to where she was going were made, but she evaded them. On the day following, a carriage came for her, and she parted with her kind friends, uttering the warmest expressions of gratitude.

“I have turned her from the house!” said Mrs. Darlington, in a tone of deep regret, as she closed the door upon the poor creature. “How would I like my own child treated thus?”

For the rest of the day she was so unhappy, owing to this circumstance, that she could scarcely attend to any thing.

“Do you know where Mrs. Marion went when she left our house?” said Edith to her mother, about two weeks afterwards. There was a troubled look in Edith’s face as she asked this question.

“No. Where is she?”

“At Blockley.”

“What!”

“In the Alms-house!”

“Edith!”

“It is too true. I have just learned that when she left here, it was to take up her abode among paupers. She had no other home.”

Mrs. Darlington clasped her hands together, and was about giving expression to her feelings, when a domestic came in and said that Mr. Ellis was in the parlour, and wished to see her immediately.

“Where is Miriam?” asked the brother, in a quick voice, the moment Mrs. Darlington entered the parlour, where he awaited her.

“She’s in her room, I believe. Why do you ask?”

“Are you certain? Go up, Edith, quickly, and see.”

The manner of Mr. Ellis was so excited that Edith did not pause to hear more, but flew up stairs. In a few moments she returned, saying that her sister was not there, and that, moreover, on looking into her drawers, she found them nearly empty.

“Then it was her!” exclaimed Mr. Ellis.

“Where is she? Where did you see her?” eagerly asked both mother and sister, their faces becoming as pale as ashes.

“I saw her in a carriage with a notorious gambler and scoundrel named Burton. There was a trunk on behind, and they were driving towards the wharf. It is ten minutes before the boat starts for New York, and I may save her yet!”

And, with these words, Mr. Ellis turned abruptly away, and hurried from the house. So paralyzed were both Mrs. Darlington and Edith by this dreadful announcement, that neither of them had for a time the power of utterance. Then both, as by a common impulse, arose and went up to the chamber where Miriam slept. Almost the first thing that met the eyes of Mrs. Darlington was a letter, partly concealed by a book on the mantel-piece. It was addressed to her. On breaking the seal, she read–