"There he is!" ejaculated Margaretta springing to her feet, as the bell rang, and hurrying to the door before the servant had time to open it.
"Here is a letter for Mrs. Smith," said a stranger, handing her a sealed note, and then withdrawing quickly.
It was with difficulty that the young wife could totter back to the parlour, where she seated herself by the table, and with trembling hands broke the seal of the letter that had been given her. Her eyes soon took in the brief words it contained. They were as follow:—
"Farewell, Margaretta! We shall, perhaps, never meet again! Think of me as one altogether unworthy of you. I have wronged you—sadly wronged you, I know—but I have been driven on by a kind of evil necessity to do what I have done. Forget me! Farewell!"
This note bore neither date nor signature, but the characters in which it was written were too well known to be mistaken.
Mrs. Riston saw the fearful change that passed over the face of her niece as she read the note, and went quickly up to her. She was in time to save her from falling to the floor. All through the night she lay in a state of insensibility, and it was weeks before she seemed to take even the slightest interest in any thing that was going on around her.
It was about three o'clock of the day that Mr. Smith got possession of the certificates of deposit, that he entered the room of his friend, Perkins. He looked agitated and irresolute.
"Well, Smith, how are you?" his friend said. "Have you sold that stock yet?"
"Yes."
"Indeed! So you have triumphed over your wife's scruples. Well—what did you get for it?"