had passed, finally succumb to the disease which was gradually
gnawing at her vitals, and the deception she had practised on her
husband was a source of great discomfort and annoyance to her. She
called on me in great grief, and, having informed me concerning that
of which (as the reader knows) I was well aware, implored me to give
her counsel and advice. She was surprised to hear that I had already
learnt all from Dr. P----; for, although she, of course, knew that
_I_ was not blinded by her subterfuge, she was not aware that
I knew all concerning the method adopted by her, and when she learned
that both the doctor and myself had forborne to inform on her, she
was visibly affected, and thanked me on her knees.

I advised her to break the matter to her husband, and not to die
with such a load on her conscience, but she avowed that she had
neither the strength nor the courage to do so, and importunately
besought me to undertake the painful task. When Mr. Quintin learnt
the truth he was of course greatly shocked, and at first was bitter
in his denunciations at his deceitful wife. His better judgment,
however, was soon brought to bear in the matter, and he was moved
rather to pity her misfortune than to punish her for her fault. He
knew that her judgment erred solely in order to retain his affection,
and when he looked at her pale face and emaciated form, and thought
of the agony and suffering, both mental and bodily, which the poor
creature had endured, he willingly forgave her, and, though sadly
disappointed and sorely smitten, did what he could to reassure her.

Edith meanwhile had developed into a beautiful girl, and had she
really been, as she believed herself, the daughter of Mr. and
Mrs. Quintin, she could not have been more beloved by them. The
former enjoined me never to reveal the secret of her birth to his