"Anna, of course," she whispered; and lighting her little lamp, she sat

down to write the letter which would tell Anna Richards who was the

waiting maid to whom she had been so kind.

"Dear Anna," she wrote. "Forgive me for calling you so this once, for

indeed I cannot help it. You have been so kind to me that if my heart

could ache, it would ache terribly at leaving you and knowing it was

forever. I am going away from you, Anna; and when, in the morning, you

wait for me to come as usual, I shall not be here, I could not stay and

meet your brother when he returns. Oh, Anna, Anna, how shall I begin to

tell you what I know will grieve and shock your pure nature so

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dreadfully?

"Anna!--I love to call you Anna now, for you seem, near to me; and

believe me, while I write this to you, I am conscious of no feeling of

inferiority to any one bearing your proud name. I am, or should have

been, your equal, your sister; and Willie!--oh, my boy, when I think of

him, the feeling comes and I almost seem to be going mad!

"Cannot you guess?--don't you know now who I am? God forgive your

brother, as I asked him to do, kneeling there by the very chair where he

sat an hour since, talking to you of Lily. I heard him, and the sound of

his voice took power and strength away. I could not move to let you know

I was there, for I was, and I lay upon the floor till consciousness

forsook me; and then, when I awoke again, you both were gone.

"I went to the depot, I saw him in his face to make assurance sure, and

Anna, I--oh, I don't know what I am. The world would not call me a wife,

though I believed I was; but they cannot deal thus cruelly by Willie, or

wash from his veins his father's blood, for I--I, who write this, I who

have been a servant in the house where I should have been the mistress,

am Lily--wronged, deserted Lily--and Willie is your brother's child! His

father's look is in his face. I see it there so plainly now, and know

why that boy portrait of your brother has puzzled me so much. But when I

came here I had no suspicion, for he won me, not as a Richards--George

Hastings, that was the name by which I knew him, and I was Adah Gordon.

If you do not believe me, ask him when he comes back if ever in his

wanderings he met with Adah Gordon, or her guardian, Mr. Monroe. Ask if

he was ever present at a marriage where this same Adah gave her heart to

one for whom she would then have lost her life, erring in that she loved

the gift more than the giver; but God punished idolatry, and He has

punished me, so sorely, oh so sorely; that sometimes my fainting soul

cries out, ''Tis more than I can bear,'"




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