Cast Adrift

e was not welcome. Cou

s death. A woman opened the chamber door noiselessly and came

look half anxious, half fearful, and

is my

swered, almost coldly; "he's well e

sent word

ee you. I've sa

I must see

her excitement, but now fell back with a low moan, shutting her eyes and turning her face away. Even as she did so, a young ma

move nor reply. He laid his hand on her cheek, and almost started, then bent down and looked at her in

ered to lie even for one blissful moment on her bosom. Hard-hearted family pride and cruel worldliness had robbed her

g creature struggled with del

is my

returning conscious

of medium stature, with small, clearly cut features and cold blue eyes. Her mouth was full, but very firm. Sel

Mrs. Dinneford put her fin

low, even voice. "The doctor forbids all

mother? It won't hur

w. The

, a look of doubt and f

mother," she said

e eyes of Mrs. Dinneford. She put her hand firmly

id, softening her voice. "No one thought you could liv

ths! Oh,

it had hidden for a few moments became deeper. She shut her eyes and lay very

she said, at length, in doubtf

w, my dear child, as you value your life,

her sight. The inflowing tide of mother-love, the pressure and yearning sweetness of which she had begun to feel when she first called for the baby they had not

a vague terror in her f

me my baby. I shall

Mrs. Dinneford, softening her v

ith a low, wailing cry that sent a shiver through Mrs

r the issue of this new struggle between life and death. There was no visible excitemen

eat if these had been all he had to offer. He was disappointed, she was not. Strong, self-asserting, yet politic, Mrs Dinneford managed her good husband about as she pleased in all external matters, and left him to the free enjoyment of his personal tastes, preferences and friendships. The house they lived in, the furniture

g Mr. Howard Dinneford. He was an active and efficient member in many boards of public charity, and highly esteemed in them all for his enlightened philanthropy and sound judgment. Everywhere but at home he was strong and influential; there he was weak, submissive and of little account. He had long ago accepted the

long as her husband made no strong op

social ambition, made her crave at times the love she had cast away, and then her cup of life was very bitter. But fear of Mr. Dinneford's influence over Edith was stronger than any jealousy of his love. She had high views for her daughter. In her own marriage she had set aside all considerations but those of social rank. She had made it a stepping-stone to a higher place in society than the one to which she was born. Still, a

l to do this only when alone with Edith, guarding his speech when Mrs. Dinneford was present. He had faith in true principles, and with these he sought to guard her life. He knew that she would be pushed forward into society, and knew but too well that one so pu

thrust into society, set up for sale to the highest bidder, her condition neare

not come out according to Mrs. Dinneford's programme. There was a hig

nd scorn. He was not rich, though belonging to a family of high character, and so fell far below her requirements. Under a pressure that almost drove the girl to despair, she g

done between her and the consummation of her highest ambition, she could never feel toward him anything but the most bitter hatred;

e made the marriage to which my heart has never consented, an impossibility. You have left me

oving d

DI

ather sh

, and I leap for life over the dark abyss, praying for strength to reach the farther edge. If I fail in the wild effort, I can only meet destruction; and I would rather be bruised to death on the jagged rocks than trust myself to the hounds and hunters. I write passionately-you will hardly recognize your quiet child; but the repressed instincts of my nature are strong, and peri

ness of marriage has been forgotten. I believe with you that it is a little less than crime to marry when no love exists-that she who does so, sells her heart's birt

my destiny into my own hands. I have grown very strong in my convictions and purposes

im, and believe him to be worthy of my love. I am willing

eart, my precious father

DI

marriage with Spencer Wray, his heart had felt very heavy. It was something lighter now. Young Granger was not the man

and rigid, her eyes fixed and stony and her lips tight against her teeth. She did not seem to notice his presence until he pu

this frightful thi

d taken his tear-dimmed eyes to make out the touching sentences. After she had done so, she stood for a few momen

a voice so strange and hard that it seemed to his ears

r a long silence she waved her hand slightl

rather

inning to take shape in her mind. Her motions had an easy, cat-like grace, in contrast with their immobility a little while before. Gradually her step became quicker, while ripples of feeling began to pass over her face, which was fast losing its pallor. Gleams of light began shooting from her eyes, that were so dull and stony when her husb

words aloud, and with a bitter satisfaction in her voice, then sat down, r

untenance had a new expression-something he had never seen there before. For years she had been growing away from him; now she seemed like one remove

her husband went on increasing, until a vague feeling of mystery and fear began to oppress him. Several times he had spoke

ed, on coming home one day, to meet his daughter, to feel her

as she kissed him fondly. "Mother has sent for me, and

, in very excess of gladness. They had met alone, but Mrs. Dinn

e said, a covert sneer

rmed the renewing blood. But a vague, questioning fear began to creep in, a sense of insecurity,