name was to be put upon it, I was puzzled. Only Heaven knew whether the
helpless little child had a claim to any name, and, if so, what that
name was. I bethought myself of one name; it meant bitterness of deep
waters.

"I will call it 'Marah,'" I said, and the name stands there on the
marble cross:

"Marah, aged three weeks. Found drowned in the sea, September, 18--."

Only one small grave among so many, but a grave over which no mother has
shed a tear. Then, after a few days more, I forgot almost all about it;
yet at that time I was so lonely, so utterly desolate, that I felt some
kind of tie bound me to the little grave, and made me love the spot. It
was soon all forgotten, but I never forgot the beautiful, despairing
face I had seen on the pier that night--the face that seemed to have
passed me with the quickness of a swift wind, yet which was impressed on
my brain forever.

I have been writing to you, dear reader, behind a veil; let me draw it
aside. My name is John Ford--by no means a romantic name--but I come of
a good family. I am one of the world's unfortunates. I had neither
brother nor sister; my father and mother died while I was quite young;
they left me a large fortune, but no relations--no one to love me. My
guardian was a stern, grave elderly man; my youth was lonely, my manhood
more lonely still. I found a fair and dainty love, but she proved false;
she left me for one who had more gold and a title to give her. When I
lost her, all my happiness died; the only consolation I found was going
about from place to place trying to do good where I could. This little
incident on the Chain Pier aroused me more than anything had done for