"How strange the word 'marriage' sounds to me now," she moaned. "When I hear of a young girl's marriage nowadays, I earnestly pray Heaven that her husband may not deceive her!"
"I am sure that there need be nothing to fear in this instance," said Miss Fernly. "My niece sent me her fiancé's picture this morning. He seems to be a noble young fellow. By the way, I will show it to you," she added, still believing that the one thing needful was to divert the girl's mind.
Thoughtless as to what would accrue from her action, Miss Fernly drew a small case from her pocket and touched the spring.
The lid flew back, disclosing a magnificent affair in ivory—the portrait of a young and handsome man.
"He has an honest look in his eyes, and a fair, open countenance," said Miss Fernly. "It was painted three years ago."
As she uttered the words, she handed the portrait to Ida May.
One glance, then a cry of the wildest horror broke from the girl's white, terrified lips.
"God have mercy!" she gasped, "it is he!"
Miss Fernly sprung to her feet, quite as white and terrified as Ida.
"You—you do not mean to say that this is the man who wrought all your woe?" she cried, in horror too great for words.