Mrs. Murray held the girl at arm's length, and as she looked at the wan, thin face, she exclaimed:
"My poor Edna! my dear little girl! why did not you tell me you were ill? You are a mere ghost of your former self. My child, why did you not come home long ago? I should have been here a month earlier, but was detained by Estelle's marriage."
Edna looked vacantly at her benefactress, and her lips whitened as she asked:
"Did you say Estelle—was married?"
"Yes, my dear. She is now in New York with her husband. They are going to Paris—"
"She married your—" The head fell forward on Mrs. Murray's bosom, and as in a dream she heard the answer:
"Estelle married that young Frenchman, Victor De Sanssure, whom she met in Europe. Edna, what is the matter? My child!"
She found that she could not rouse her, and in great alarm called for assistance.
Mrs. Andrews promptly resorted to the remedies advised by Dr. Howell; but it was long before Edna fully recovered, and then she lay with her eyes closed, and her hands clasped across her forehead.
Mrs. Murray sat beside the sofa weeping silently, while Mrs. Andrews briefly acquainted her with the circumstances attending former attacks. When the latter was summoned from the room and all was quiet, Edna looked up at Mrs. Murray, and tears rolled over her cheeks as she said: