"Then mamma's friend had a daughter, who was also named Edith," mused our fair heroine, breaking in upon her perusal of the letter. "I wonder if she is living, and where? Those letters tell me nothing, give no last name by which to identify either the writer or her husband."

She turned back to the epistle, and read on:

"She is such a comfort to me," it ran, "and gives me an object in life--something besides myself and my trou"--these last three words were crossed out--"to think about. When will you come to Rome, dear Edith? Your last letter was dated from St. Petersburg. I am very anxious that you should see your little namesake, and make me that long-promised visit."

There was scarcely a word in this letter referring to her husband, except those three crossed-out words; but it overflowed with praises and love of her beautiful child, although it was evident that the young wife was far from experiencing the conjugal happiness that had permeated her previous missives.

There was only one more letter in the package, and Edith's face was very grave and sympathetic as she drew it from its envelope.

"I am sure that her husband proved to be negligent of and unkind to her," she murmured, "and that she repented her rashness in leaving her home and friends. Oh, I wonder why girls will be so foolish and headstrong as to go directly contrary to the advice of those who love them best, and run away with men of whom they know comparatively nothing!"

With a sigh of regret for the unfortunate wife, of whom she had been reading, she unfolded the letter in her hands and began to read, little dreaming what strange things she was to learn from it.

"Oh, Edith darling," it began, "how can I tell you?--how can I write of the terrible calamity that has overtaken me? My heart is broken--my life is ruined, and all because I would not heed those who loved me, and who, I now realize, were my best and kindest counselors. I could bear it for myself, perhaps--I could feel that it was but a just judgment upon me for my obstinacy and unfilial conduct, and so drag out my weary existence in submission to the inevitable; but when I think of my innocent babe--my lovely Edith--your namesake! oh! I would never have had her christened thus, I could not have insulted you so, had I known! I feel almost inclined to doubt the justice and love of God--if, indeed, there is a God."

The letter here looked as if the writer 

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