In the afternoon of the day after Osborne left Stratford, Marie got the following letter from him:--

'My Own Darling Marie,--Here I am once more in London, but not in the old place. When you answer this, you are to address your letter to Kaiser's Hotel, E.C. 'I have thought over the whole thing most carefully. I have tried, with how much success I do not know, to look at the matter dispassionately, and I have come to a final conclusion. My mind is now made up to insist upon your marrying me within a month. I have not waited for a personal interview with you, for two reasons: I did not care, after my mother's positive refusal to release you from your promise, to use the house, or your visit to the house, as a means of urging my right; and I did not think that in an interview I could say in as forcible and simple a way as I could on paper. 'My reasons now for being so firm are very simple. You told me some time ago you would marry me, in spite of my religious beliefs or disbeliefs. After that you, imagining my faith had returned, promise my mother not to fix the day while I suffer from any form of unbelief. After that, while you are still under the belief I have come back to my old faith, you promise to marry me within a month, within three weeks. Thus you made the promise to my mother and the promise to me under the same mistake. Both these promises are cancelled, by the fact that they were made under a false impression. Therefore, neither your refusing to marry me, nor your marrying me within a month or three weeks, is obligatory according to your promises, but the promise you made me in Lincoln's Inn Fields was not qualified, nor has it been cancelled in any way. It is the only promise I now look upon as existing between you and me, and I know you are too simple and honourable a nature to allow yourself in any way to cloud your mind as to the line of your duty. 'What I have written is, I know, my darling, more like a letter of business than of love; but then our present business is love, and I want to put the rational aspect, the just aspect of the position before you. You will not need to know what my feelings are. In that most delicious hour in the conservatory you said you were mine, body and soul. I now claim your obedience to my will in this case. 'My own darling Marie, I can hardly bring myself to think I am so near as a month to the moment when you will be mine, and no power on earth can ever part us again. A month, a little month of thirty days! Only a month. I know many men think the month before they receive the hand they court a century. To me it seems but an hour, a moment. I am not a child, impatient to possess a new toy. I am a man who has set his heart on obtaining a noble object, and I am so profoundly grateful for my success I can think of nothing but that some day soon you will be mine. The fact that you will be mine is everything. I could have waited for you years. But as you said, the sooner the better.--I am, my darling love, your own sweetheart,

George.

When she had read this letter she put it down in her lap. A soft, pensive smile stole over her face, and she murmured, 'My George, my George, my own George. My great-hearted, my noble love!' She read the letter again. Yes, it was quite right. Everything he said was perfectly true and just. He never could have made it so clear to her if he had been present, for she would only have heard the music of his voice; and although she would have taken for granted all he said, her mind would not have got so clear an idea of her duty as from this letter. Duty? yes, duty. She owed him duty now. What a soothing, what a peaceful thought it was that she owed George duty. She would pay him duty a thousand fold. She had told him she had given herself to him body and soul, and surely her duty was little to give when she had given these. He was her lord and master, and he should command her. The promise she had made to his mother was made under a mistake. If she had, at the time of making that promise, known the real state of George's mind, she never would have given such a pledge. She would now go straight to Mrs Osborne and tell her she had heard from George. Marie found Mrs Osborne in her own room. 'I have got a letter from George, Mrs Osborne.' 'Have you, my child? Where from?' 'London.' 'And what does he say?' 'I think you are aware, Mrs Osborne, that I know about Alice's visit to you yesterday. She told me you did not think it would be advisable matters should go any farther between us, while George remained unconvinced of his errors.' 'Yes, my child, that was my view. That is my view. What does George say?' 'Mrs Osborne, I find myself in a cruelly awkward position.' 'No doubt, child, I can appreciate your feelings.' 'And--and--and although I am very sorry for it, I think the best thing I can do is to leave this.' 'Did George ask you to leave this?' 'No; but I feel very awkward. I cannot explain to you, and I am not content that you do not know everything.' 'Has George asked you to disregard that promise you made me?' 'Yes. Unfortunately I made that promise to you under a false impression, and under the same false impression I made another promise to him, and he says I am not bound by either, they having been given under a mistake; but he says I am bound by a promise given to him before we came to Stratford.' 'And what is the promise given to him before you came to Stratford?' 'That nothing which might arise could make any difference between him and me.'

'Bournemouth, 7th March 1880.

'My Dear Mother,--This is to let you know in Cork, that I am now here, where you may send the yellow handkerchief I told you of last month. I am not any longer, as you know, in the employ of Miss Gordon, for there is no such person. She was married in London to Mr Osborne the day before yesterday, and she and her husband are now staying here. On the same day, Mr Osborne's sister was married to a gentleman named Nevill. The other wedding took place in Stratford, that dead-and-alive hole I told you we were a couple of days in. Mr and Mrs Nevill are coming on a visit here next month; but I believe the old lady, Mr Osborne's mother, is not pleased with the marriage of her son, owing to his having given up going to church, or something of that kind. You can send the handkerchief in a glove-box, they will give you one for nothing at any shop where they sell gloves. I enclose a Post-office order, my dear mother, for a pound. Buy with it any little comfort you may want.--I am, with duty, your loving daughter,

'Judith O'Connor.'

The End.

* * * * * * * * * *

COLSTON AND SON, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.

WARD & DOWNEY'S NEW BOOKS.

* * * * *

Price Seven Shillings and Sixpence each

COMEDIES FROM A COUNTRY SIDE. By W. Outram Tristram. Author of "Julian Trevor."

AN APOLOGY FOR THE LIFE OF THE RIGHT HON. W. E. GLADSTONE; or, The New Policies.

* * * * * * * * * *

Price Six Shillings each.

VICTOR HUGO: His Life and Work. By G. Barnett Smith. With an engraved Portrait of Victor Hugo.

THE FLOWER OF DOOM, and other Stories. By Miss Betham-Edwards.

COURT LIFE UNDER THE FIRST GEORGES. By J. Fitzgerald Mollov.

COURT LIFE UNDER THE LAST GEORGES. By J. Fitzgerald Mollov.

GREAT PORTER SQUARE: A Mystery. By B. L. Farjeon. Fifth Edition.

THE HOUSE OF WHITE SHADOWS. By B. L. Farjeon. Third Edition.

PROPER PRIDE. By the Author of "Pretty Miss Neville." Fourth Edition.

* * * * * * * * * *

Price Five Shillings.

A New Cookery Book.

PHILOSOPHY IN THE KITCHEN: General Hints on Foods and Drinks. By an Old Bohemian.

* * * * * * * * * *

Price Three Shillings and Sixpence each.

FOLLY MORRISON. By Frank Barrett.

GRIF. By B. L. Farjeon.

* * * * * * * * * *

Price Two Shillings each.

UNDER ST. PAUL'S. By Richard Dowling.

THE DUKE'S SWEETHEART. By Richard Dowling.

HONEST DAVIE. By Frank Barrett.

* * * * * * * * * *

Price One Shilling.

The Tenth Thousand of

THE DARK HOUSE: A Knot Unravelled. By George Manville Fenn.

* * * * *

,

WARD & DOWNEY, PUBLISHERS,

12, York Street, Covent Garden, London.