"My darling," said Miss Plympton, drawing her chair close to Edith, and
twining her arms about her, "you must not talk so; you can not imagine
how you distress me. I can not let you go. Do not think of these
things. We all love you. Do not imagine that your secret will be
discovered. No one shall ever know it. In a few days you yourself will
feel different. The consciousness of your father's innocence will make
you feel more patient, and the love of all your friends will make your
life as happy as ever."

"No," said Edith, "I can not--I can not. You can not imagine how I
dread to see the face of any one of them. I shall imagine that they know
all; and I can not tell them. They will tease me to tell them my
troubles, and it will only worry me. No, for me to stay here is
impossible. I would go any where first."

She spoke so firmly and decisively that Miss Plympton forbore to press
her further just then.

"At any rate, my darling," said she, "you need not think of Dalton Hall.
I can find you other places which will be far more suitable to you in
every way. If it distresses you to stay here, I can find a happy home
for you, where you can stay till you feel able to return to us again."

"There is no place," said Edith, "where I can stay. I do not want to go
among strangers, or to strange places. I have a home, and that is the
only place that I can go to now. That home is familiar to me. I remember
it well. It is where I was born. Dear mamma's room is there, where I
used to sit with her and hear her voice. My dear papa and mamma were
happy there; and she died there. It has its own associations; and now
since this great sorrow has come, I long to go there. It seems the