Daisy's handwriting! which he had never thought to see again; for after

his engagement with Julia he had burned every vestige of a

correspondence it was sorrow now to remember. One by one, and with a

steady hand, he had dropped Daisy's letters into the fire and watched

them turning into ashes, and thought how like his love for her they were

when nothing remained of them but the thin gray tissue his breath could

blow away. The four scraps of the marriage settlement which Daisy had

brought him on that night of storm he kept, because they seemed to

embody something good and noble in the girl; but the letters she had

written him were gone past recall, and he had thought himself cut loose

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from her forever--when, lo! there had come to him an awakening to the

bitterness of the past in a letter from the once-loved wife, whose

delicate handwriting made him grow faint and sick for a moment as he

held the letter in his hand and read thereon: "GUY THORNTON, ESQ.,

Brown Cottage,

Cuylerville, Mass.

Politeness of Mr. Wilkes."

Why had she written, and what had she to say to him, he wondered, and

for a moment he felt tempted to tear the letter up and never know what

it contained.

Better, perhaps, had he done so--better for him, and better for the fond

new wife whose happiness was so perfect, and whose trust in his love so

strong.

But he did not tear it up. He opened it and read--another chapter will

tell us what he read.




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