came. Now, whatever she intended to do, it became imperative upon her to do at once. She was unwilling that her father should hear of her, and not from herself; besides, and her heart warmed at the thought, he might feel hurt at the appearance of neglect. How often did she commence writing; but how impossible she found it to say what seemed sufficient to herself! Wearied out by her own indecision, she at length sealed the following letter, most thoroughly dissatisfied with it, but feeling hopeless of another attempt.
"In entreating your Lordship's attention to the enclosed packet, I have nothing to rely upon but your kindness, and the hope that some sad, perhaps tender, remembrances from the past may plead the cause of the present. It explains itself, and, till read, I trust you will pardon the intrusion of a seeming stranger.
"F. de C."
The packet contained Arden's confession, Avonleigh's own letters, and her mother's miniature. What a world of passion and of suffering were within its slender folds! But the passion was now cold as the dust in which it had long slept, and the suffering was now but a memory. Her
