It told her that Marian Holbrook was living, and in all probability safe--though by no means in good hands.

She had sailed for America with her father; but her husband was in hot pursuit of her, and her husband was faithful.
"I have schooled myself to forgive him," Gilbert went on to say, "for I know that he loves her--and that must needs condone my wrongs.

I look forward anxiously to their return from America, and hope for a happy reunion amongst us all--when your warm friendship shall not be forgotten.
I am waiting impatiently for news from New York, and will write to you again directly I hear anything definite.

We have suffered the torments of suspense for a long weary time, but I trust and believe that the sky is clearing." This was not much, but it was more than enough to relieve Ellen Carley's mind of a heavy load.

Her dear young lady, as she called Marian, was not dead--not lying at the bottom of that cruel river, at which Ellen had often looked with a shuddering horror, of late, thinking of what might be.