RICHARD HARRINGTON would lavish so much affection, wasting on
her the surplus love which, perhaps, could not be given to the
father--husband. How then was her castle destroyed, when Richard
said,
"She, too, is dead, so Mrs. Jamieson told me, and there is none of
the family left save you."
"I wish I knew where mother was buried," Edith sighed, her tears
falling to the memory of her girl mother, whose features it seamed
to her she could recall, as well as a death-bed scene, when
somebody with white lips and mournful black eyes clasped her in
her arms and prayed that God would bless her, and enable her
always to do right.
It might have been a mere fancy, but to Edith it was a reality,
and she said within herself,
"Yes, darling mother, I will do right, and as I am sure yon would
approve my giving myself to Richard, so I will be his wife."
One wild, longing, painful throb her heart gave to the past when
she had hoped for other bridegroom than the middle-aged man on
whose knee she sat, and then laying her hot face against his
bearded cheek, she whispered,
"You've told the story, Richard.
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