Yet if her story was not to be a source of sorrow—­of divine pity—­it could only be a source of disgrace and shame.  Tears might wash it out!  But to hate and resent it—­so it seemed to her—­must be—­in a world, where every detail of such a thing was or would be known—­to go through life branded and crushed by it.  If the man who was to be her husband could only face it thus (by a stern ostracism of the dead, by silencing all mention of them between himself and her), her cheeks could never cease to burn, her heart to shrink.

Now at last she felt herself weighed indeed to the earth, because Marsham, in that measured letter, had made her realize the load on him.

All that huge wealth he was to give up for her?  His mother had actually the power to strip him of his inheritance?—­and would certainly exercise it to punish him for marrying her—­Diana?

Humiliation came upon her like a flood, and a bitter insight followed.  Between the lines of the letter she read the reluctance, the regrets of the man who had written it.  She saw that he would be faithful to her if he could, but that in her own concentration of love she had accepted what Oliver had not in truth the strength to give her.  The Marsham she loved had suddenly disappeared, and in his place was a Marsham whom she might—­at a personal cost he would never forget, and might never forgive—­persuade or compel to marry her.

She sprang up.  For the first time since the blow had fallen, vigor had returned to her movements and life to her eyes.

“Ah, no!” she said to herself, panting a little. “No!”

A letter fell to the ground—­the letter in the unknown handwriting.  Some premonition made her open it and prepared her for the signature.

“MY DEAR MISS MALLORY,—­I heard of the sad discovery which had taken place, from my cousin, Miss Drake, on Sunday morning, and came up at once from the country to be with my mother; for I know well with what sympathy she had been following Oliver’s wishes and desires.  It is a very painful business.  I do most truly regret the perplexing situation in which you find yourself, and I am sure you will not resent it if, as Oliver’s sister, I write you my views on the matter.

“I am afraid it is useless to expect that my mother should give way.  And, then, the question is, What is the right course for you and Oliver to pursue?  I understand that he proposed to you, and you accepted him, in ignorance of the melancholy truth.  And, like a man of honor, he proposes to stand by his engagement—­unless, of course, you release him.

“Now, if I were in your place, I should expect to consider such a matter not as affecting myself only, but in its relation to society—­and the community.  Our first duty is to Society.  We owe it everything, and we must not act selfishly toward it.  Consider Oliver’s position.  He has his foot on the political ladder.  Every session his