“My dear, dear mother:  I shall be away from you only a little while; and, when I return, I will come with relief for all your present troubles.  Do not blame me, dear mother!  What I have done is for your sake.  It almost broke my heart to see you so pressed down and miserable.  And, then, there was no light ahead.  Mr. Burton, who has great wealth, offered me his hand.  Only on condition of a handsome settlement upon you would I accept of it.  Forgive me that I have acted without consultation.  I deemed it best.  In a little while, I will be back to throw myself into your arms, and then to lift you out of your many troubles.  How purely and tenderly I love you, mother, dear mother!  I need not say.  It is from this love that I am now acting.  Take courage, mother.  Be comforted.  We shall yet be happy.  Farewell, for a little while.  In a few days I will be with you again.

“Miriam.”

As Mrs. Darlington read the last sentence of this letter, Henry, her son, who had not been home since he went out at breakfast-time, came hurriedly into the room, and, in an excited manner, said—­

“Mother, I want ten dollars!”

The face of the young man was flushed, and his eyes unsteady.  It was plain, at a glance, that he had been drinking.

Mrs. Darlington looked at him for a moment, and then, before Edith had seen the contents of Miriam’s letter, placed it in his hands.

“What does this mean?” he exclaimed, after running his eyes over it hurriedly.  “Miriam gone off with that Burton!”

The letter dropped upon the floor, and Henry clasped his hands together with a gesture of pain.

“Who is Mr. Burton?  What do you know of him?” asked Edith.

“I know him to be a man of the vilest character, and a gambler into the bargain!  Rich!  Gracious heaven!”

And the young man struck his hands against his forehead, and glanced wildly from his pale-faced mother to his paler sister.

“And you knew the character of this man, Henry!” said Mrs. Darlington.  There was a smiting rebuke in her tone.  “You knew him, and did not make the first effort to protect your young, confiding, devoted sister!  Henry Darlington, the blood of her murdered happiness will never be washed from the skirts of your garments!”

“Mother! mother!” exclaimed the young man, putting up his hands to enforce the deprecation in his voice, “do not speak so, or I will go beside myself!  But where is she?  When did she go?  I will fly in pursuit.  It may not yet be too late.”

“Your Uncle Hiram saw her in a carriage with Mr. Burton, on their way, as he supposed, to the steamboat landing.  He has gone to intercept them, if possible.”

Henry drew his watch from his pocket, and, as he glanced at the time, sank into a chair, murmuring, in a low voice of anguish—­

“It is too late!”

CHAPTER IX.