A less subservient reader would have set them down as variations of the language of infatuation; but Rhoda was responsive to every word and change of mood, from the, "I am unworthy, degraded, wretched," to "I am blest above the angels." If one letter said, "We met yesterday," Rhoda's heart beat on to the question, "Shall I see him again to-morrow ?" And will she see him ?--has she seen him ?--agitated her and absorbed her thoughts.
So humbly did she follow her sister, without daring to forecast a prospect for her, or dream of an issue, that when on a summer morning a letter was brought in at the breakfast-table, marked "urgent and private," she opened it, and the first line dazzled her eyes--the surprise was a shock to her brain.

She rose from her unfinished meal, and walked out into the wide air, feeling as if she walked on thunder.
The letter ran thus:-- "My Own Innocent!--I am married.

We leave England to-day.

I must not love you too much, for I have all my love to give to my Edward, my own now, and I am his trustingly for ever.

But he will let me give you some of it--and Rhoda is never jealous.