Therefore, do not attempt to see me, for with my own consent I will never
look upon your face again. I deem no explanation necessary; your own
conscience will tell you why I have been forced to make this decision.
I return to you with this note everything that can serve to remind me of
you, and ask you to do me the favor to burn all that you may have in your
possession which once was mine. Farewell, now and forever.

"MARGARET HARRISON."

There remained still something more to be done. Margie knew that Archer
Trevlyn would seek her out, and demand an explanation from her own lips,
and this must never be. She could not see him now; she was not certain
that she could ever see him again. She dared not risk the influence his
personal presence might have upon her. She must leave New York. But
where should she go? She had scarcely asked the question before thought
answered her.

Far away in the northern part of New Hampshire, resided old Nellie Day,
the woman who had nursed her, and whom she had not seen for twelve years.
Nellie was a very quiet, discreet person, and had been very warmly
attached to the Harrison family. She had married late in life a worthy
farmer, and giving up her situation in New York, had gone with him to the
little-out-of-the-way village of Lightfield. Margie had kept up a sort of
desultory correspondence with her, and in every letter that the old lady
wrote she had urged Margie to visit her in her country home. It had never
been convenient to do so, but now the place was suggested to her at once,
and to Lightfield she decided to go.

She consulted her watch. It was five o'clock; the train for the North,
the first express, left at half-past six. There would be time. She would