It has not been my fault, believe me.

I shall pray for you always, always! I must not say any more_.
"_Minnie Clyde_." That was all the little note contained; but, it was quite enough.
Was it not?
When I had read it and read it, over and over again, I was almost beside myself,--with a grief that was mixed up with feelings of intense anger and rage against her whom I looked upon as the author of my sufferings-- Mrs Clyde.
Min had been again sent down to the country, the very day on which I received her heart-breaking letter.

This I heard from my old friend, dear little Miss Pimpernell, who tried vainly to console me.

She endeavoured to make me believe that "all would come right in the end," as she had prophesied before; but, I refused to be comforted.

I could not share her faith.