“You are the young lady who wrote to me?”

“Yes, madam.”

“You are a friend of my poor girl’s?”

“Something more than that, madam—­I will tell you by and by,” said Marian, and her kind, dear eyes were again turned upon Edith, and observing the latter slightly move, she said, in her pleasant voice: 

“Edith, dear, shall I put you to bed—­are you able to walk?”

“Yes, yes,” murmured the sufferer, turning her head uneasily from side to side.

Marian gave her hand, and assisted the poor girl to rise, and tenderly supported her as she walked to the bedroom.

Mrs. Waugh arose to give her assistance, but Marian shook her head at her, with a kindly look, that seemed to say, “Do not startle her—­she is used only to me lately,” and bore her out of sight into the bedroom.

Presently she reappeared in the little parlor, opened the blinds, drew back the curtains, and let the sunlight into the dark room.  Then she ordered more wood to the fire, and when it was replenished, and the servant had left the room, she invited Mrs. Waugh to draw her chair to the hearth, and then said: 

“I am ready now, madam, to tell you anything you wish to know—­indeed I had supposed that you were acquainted with everything relating to Edith’s marriage, and its fatal results.”

“I know absolutely nothing but what I have learned to-day.  We never received a single letter, or message, or news of any kind, or in any shape, from Edith or her husband, from the day they left until now.”

“Yon did not hear, then, that he was court-martialed, and—­sentenced to death!”

“No, no—­good heaven, no!”

“He was tried for mutiny or rebellion—­I know not which—­but it was for raising arms against his superior officers while here in America—­the occasion was—­but you know the occasion better than I do.”

“Yes, yes, it was when he rescued Edith from the violence of Thorg and his men.  But oh! heaven, how horrible! that he should have been condemned to death for a noble act!  It is incredible—­impossible—­how could it have happened?  He never expected such a fate—­none of us did, or we would never have consented to his return.  There seemed no prospect of such a thing.  How could it have been?”

“There was treachery, and perhaps perjury, too.  He had an insidious and unscrupulous enemy, who assumed the guise of repentance, and candor, and friendship, the better to lure him into his toils—­it was the infamous Colonel Thorg, who received the command of the regiment, in reward for his great services in America.  And Michael’s only powerful friend, who could and would have saved him—­was dead.  General Ross, you are aware, was killed in the battle of Baltimore.”

“God have mercy on poor Edith!  How long has it been since, this happened, my dear girl?”

“When they reached Toronto, in Canada West, the regiment commanded by Thorg was about to sail for England.  On its arrival at York, in England, a court-martial was formed, and Michael was brought to trial.  There was a great deal of personal prejudice, distortion of facts, and even perjury—­in short, he was condemned and sentenced one day and led out and shot the next!”