John F. Trow & Son, Printers,

205–213 East 12th St., New York.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER PAGE
I.— Dora’s Diary [7]
II.— Author’s Journal [15]
III.— Dr. West’s Diary [19]
IV.— Johnnie’s Letter to Dora [27]
V.— Dora’s Diary [31]
VI.— Letters [44]
VII.— Dora’s Diary Continued [54]
VIII.— Jessie’s Diary [80]
IX.— Extract from Dr. West’s Diary [84]
X.— Dora’s Diary [87]
XI.— Richard’s Story [102]
XII.— The Shadow of Death [119]
XIII.— At Beechwood [134]
XIV.— In the Spring [146]
XV.— Waiting for the Answer [159]
XVI.— The Engagement [169]
XVII.— Extract from Dr. West’s Journal [178]
XVIII.— Poor Max [182]
XIX.— Anna [193]
XX.— Richard [209]
XXI.— The Night before the Wedding [212]
XXII.— Down by the Lake Shore [216]
XXIII.— The Bridal Day [226]
XXIV.— The Shadows of Death [235]
XXV.— Breaking the Engagement [240]
XXVI.— Giving in Marriage [254]
XXVII.— More of Marriage [263]
XXVIII.— Dora’s Diary [270]
THE RECTOR OF ST. MARKS.
I.— Friday Afternoon [283]
II.— Saturday Afternoon [291]
III.— Sunday [299]
IV.— Blue Monday [309]
V.— Tuesday [319]
VI.— Wednesday [328]
VII.— At Newport [341]
VIII.— Showing How it Happened [354]
IX.— Anna [368]
X.— Mrs. Meredith’s Conscience [379]
XI.— The Letter Received [383]
XII.— Valencia [393]
XIII.— Christmas Day [403]

WEST LAWN.

CHAPTER I.
DORA’S DIARY.

“Beechwood, June 12th, }

11 o’clock P. M. }

“At last, dear old book, repository of all my secret thoughts and feelings, I am free to come to you once more, and talk to you as I can talk to no one else. Daisy is asleep in her crib after a longer struggle than usual, for the little elf seemed to have a suspicion that to-morrow night some other voice than mine would sing her lullaby. Bertie, too, the darling, cried himself to sleep because I was going away, while the other children manifested in various ways their sorrow at my projected departure. Bless them all, how I do love children, and hope if I am ever married, I may have at least a dozen; though if twelve would make me twice as faded and sickly, and,—and,—yes, I will say it,—as peevish as Margaret’s six have made her, I should rather be excused. But what nonsense to be written by me, Dora Freeman, spinster, aged twenty-eight,—the Beechwood gossips said when the new minister went home with me from the sewing society. But they were mistaken, for if the family Bible is to be trusted, I was only twenty-five last Christmas, and I don’t believe I look as old as that.”