"Mrs. May paused and looked smilingly at me for a moment or two.

"'So great is the treat I have in store for you that you will never forget it. But Mr. May and I disagree slightly as to what it shall be. We now lay the proposition before you. Which would you prefer—have five hundred dollars in cash, or be taken to Newport for a season, have lovely dresses, and stop at a great hotel, under my protection, and have as fine a time as any young girl at the sea-shore?'

"I cried aloud in the exuberance of my joy. I had read of the lives of other young girls at the sea-shore, and this opportunity seemed like the opening out of fairy-land to me. You will not blame me, Royal; I was young and romantic. I had never seen anything of life or its pleasures. A season at Newport! The very thought of it fairly took away my breath.

"'Oh, I will go to Newport!' I cried. 'Then the great dream of my life will be realized!'

"'My husband thought you would prefer the money, but I knew that you would prefer the pleasure.'

"Half wild with joy, I went home and told my mother the wonderful news. She shook her head sadly.

"'We are so poor, you should have chosen the money, Ida,' she sobbed. 'Such a great gift is offered you but once in a life-time!'

"'But what does Mrs. May want you to do for her, Ida? Are you to be her maid?'

"'Oh, no, mother!' I cried, with a hysterical laugh. 'I am to be a real lady, wear fine clothes, and sit on the porch reading novels, or promenade on the sea-shore, from the time I get up in the morning till I retire at night. I shall have pin-money, too, they say, and that I will send home to you. So everything will go on with you while I am away as it did while I was here.'

"We had never been parted from each other, mother and I, and oh! it wrung her heart to say 'Yes.'

"But after much pleading on my part she consented to let me go. She made one proviso, however, and that was—I was not to fall in love with any one whom I might meet.

"Oh, I can not tell you of my delight when I saw the wonderful dresses that Mrs. May purchased for me, saying that they were all my own forever after. She took me to Newport with her. As my name was the same as theirs, every one took it for granted that I was a niece of theirs, instead of their protÉgÉe for a few short weeks, a report which the Mays did not trouble themselves to contradict."

She had told her story hastily, impetuously, not daring to look into her lover's face until she had concluded. Then she raised her great dark eyes slowly. But what she saw in her husband's face made her cry out in terror.

"Oh, Royal! Royal! what is the matter?" she cried, in alarm.

He sat before her as though he were petrified. The glassy, horrified stare in his eyes cut to her heart like the thrust of a sword.

"I married you for love. You have helped me to escape Mrs. Deering's dreaded nephew," she faltered.

By a wonderful effort he found his voice.

"Not the heiress of the Mays!" he cried, hoarsely, as though he was unable to realize the truth.

"You do not love me the less for what I have done, do you?" she cried, catching her breath with a sharp sob.

Before he could find words to answer, breakfast was announced.

"Go in and eat your breakfast, Ida," he said. "I have some important matters which I must attend to that will keep me busy for the next hour to come. Don't wait for me. Lie down and rest until you hear from me. You will need all your strength to meet that which is before you." And his brows darkened ominously.

She was young, and youth has an appetite all its own. She was very tired with all she had gone through the last few hours, and the appetizing breakfast spread before her caused her to forget everything else.

Like all young, healthy girls, she ate heartily; then she rose from the table and re-entered the little parlor to wait for the coming of Royal to ask him to send a telegram to her mother.

"Shall I show you to your room, miss?" asked the waiter.

"No," she answered. "I will wait here."

"Then here is a letter which has just been handed me to give to you."

She opened it, and found that it was from Royal.

For one moment Ida May looked with an expression of puzzled wonder at the letter which the hotel waiter had handed her.

It was in Royal's handwriting; she saw that at once.

What could he write to her about, when he had been away from her scarcely an hour? He probably wished to remind her to be sure to be ready when he arrived.

"How he loves me!" she murmured, a pink flush stealing into the dimpled cheeks. "What a happy girl I ought to be that my lover loves me so well!"

The waiter had gone back to attend to his duty. She saw that she was alone, and with a quick action she raised the envelope to her lips with her little white hands and kissed it—ay, kissed passionately the sword which was to slay her the next moment.

Seating herself in a cozy arm-chair close by the open window, Ida May opened the letter which was to be her death-warrant, and read as follows:

"Ida, I suppose the contents of this note will give you something of a shock; but it is best to know the truth now than later on. I shall come to the point at once, that you may not be kept in suspense.

"The truth is, Ida, that your confession has knocked all our little plans on the head. To write plainly, when I thoughtlessly married you, it was under the impression that you were the niece of the Mays—their future heiress. I have not told you much about myself in the past, but I am obliged to do so now.

"I am not at all a rich fellow. I am working along as best I can, living on what people call wits—and expectations, which make me a veritable slave to the whims of a capricious old aunt and uncle.

"They have decided that I must marry a girl who has money. I would not dare to present a portionless bride to them. In such a case, all my future prospects would be ruined. I must add that I have a still greater surprise for you. On leaving you, I purchased this morning's paper, and the first item that met my eye was the absconding of the man who performed the ceremony for us last night. It appears that he was turned out of office some two days before, impeached, as it were, for embezzling money.

"All power was taken from him to act in the capacity of mayor. Thus the ceremony which we thought made us one is not binding. You are free as air. No one will be any the wiser, and you are none the worse for our little escapade—romance—call it what you will.

"A little affair in the life of a telegraph operator will not set the heart of the great world throbbing with excitement. I am sorry affairs have turned out this way; for, upon my word, I could have liked you. There is but one thing to do under the circumstances; that is, to part company. I advise you to go quietly back and marry the rich lover Mrs. Deering has selected for you. That will be better than drudging your life away in a telegraph office.

"This is all I have to say, and thus I take French leave of you. Forget me as quickly as you can, little girl. I am nearly dead broke, but I am generous enough to share what money I have with you. Inclosed you will find a twenty-dollar bill—quite enough to take you back to the village which you should never have left. Yours in great haste,

"'Royal.'"

Once, twice, thrice—ay, a dozen times—the girl read the heartless letter through until every word was scorched into her brain in letters of fire, then it fluttered from her hands to the floor.

She sat quite still, like one petrified by a sudden awful horror; then creeping to the window, she raised the sash, and, looking up into God's face through the glinting sunshine, asked the angels in Heaven to tell her if it was true that the husband she had but just wedded had deserted her.