Mrs. Murray sobbed, and Edna bent her own head lower in her palms.

For some seconds both were silent.  Mrs. Murray seated herself close to the governess, and clasped her arms around her.

“Edna, why did you not tell me all?  Why did you leave me to find out by accident that which should have been confided to me?”

The girl trembled, and a fiery spot burned on her cheeks as she pressed her forehead against Mrs. Murray’s bosom, and said hastily: 

“To what do you allude?”

“Why did you not tell me that my son loved you, and wished to make you his wife?  I never knew what passed between you until about a month ago, and then I learned it from Mr. Hammond.  Although I wondered why St. Elmo went as far as Chattanooga with you on your way North, I did not suspect any special interest, for his manner betrayed none when, after his return, he merely said that he found no one on the train to whose care he could commit you.  Now I know all—­know why you left Le Bocage; and I know, too, that in God’s hands you have been the instrument of bringing St. Elmo back to his duty—­to his old noble self!  Oh!  Edna, my child! if you could know how I love and thank you!  How I long to fold you in my arms—­so! and call you my daughter!  Edna Murray—­St. Elmo’s wife!  Ah! how proud I shall be of my own daughter!  When I took a little bruised, moaning, homespun-clad girl into my house, how little I dreamed that I was sheltering unawares the angel who was to bring back happiness to my son’s heart, and peace to my own!”

She lifted the burning face, and kissed the quivering lips repeatedly.

“Edna, my brave darling! how could you resist St. Elmo’s pleading?  How could you tear yourself away from him?  Was it because you feared that I would not willingly receive you as a daughter?  Do not shiver so—­answer me.”

“Oh! do not ask me!  Mrs. Murray, spare me!  This is a subject which I cannot discuss with you.”

“Why not, my child?  Can you not trust the mother of the man you love?”

Edna unwound the arms that clasped her, and rising, walked away to the mantelpiece.  Leaning heavily against it, she stood for some time with her face averted, and beneath the veil of long, floating hair Mrs. Murray saw the slight figure sway to and fro, like a reed shaken by the breeze.

“Edna, I must talk to you about a matter which alone brought me to New York.  My son’s happiness is dearer to me than my life, and I have come to plead with you, for his sake, if not for your own, at least to—­”

“It is useless!  Do not mention his name again!  Oh, Mrs. Murray!  I am feeble to-day; spare me!  Have mercy on my weakness!”

She put out her hand appealingly, but in vain.

“One thing you must tell me.  Why did you reject him?”

“Because I could not respect his character.  Oh! forgive me!  You force me to say it—­because I knew that he was unworthy of any woman’s confidence and affection.”