"  Catharine,  you  can  know  nothing  of  a  husband's  feel
ings  or  rights,  if  yon  think  one  who  loves  as  I  do  will
bear  such  concealments."

"  I  think  I  do  know  what  they  ought  to  be  ;  and  won't
you  trust  me  to  keep  from  you  a  knowledge  that  can
only  wound  and  pain,  but  do  you  no  good  ?  "

"  No :  I  must  know  the  truth,  at  whatever  cost  of
feeling  to  myself."

"  When  it  is  only  for  your  good,  and  the  honor  of
your  family  alone,  that  I  would  be  silent  ?  "

"  Yes  :  you  know  who  were  your  abductors,  and  would
shield  them  from  my  anger."

"No,  I  do  not."

"  Who  employed  them  then  ?  "

"Yes,"  said  Catharine,  after  a  pause. "But  pray
trust  me  in  this,  Gen. Atherton. If  our  marriage  had
been  known,  it  would  never  have  occurred. He  who
did  this  thing,  knowing  nothing  of  our  secret  marriage,
had  professed  to  love,  and  been  rejected  by  me. Your
last  letter  to  me  fell  by  accident  into  his  hands,  unfor-
tuately. Mistaking  its  ambiguous  language,  thinking
you  were  coming  to  marry,  and  not  claim  one  already
married,  and  maddened  by  disappointment,  he  procured
my  abduction  to  get  me  out  of  your  way. I  was  car
ried  to  his  plantation,  miles  away,  where  he  followed,


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a  day  or  two  afterwards,  and  presented  himself  before
me. We  had  a  deeply-exciting  interview,  during  which
I  was  obliged  by  the  circumstances  to  reveal  to  him  the

I  fact  of  our  marriage,  and  beg  of  him  to  leave  me. He

was  terribly  shocked,  disappointed,  and  I  believe  penitent,
when  he  found  out  the  truth. I  had  taken  a  severe  cold
in  my  night  journey. I  was  already  very  ill ;  my  head
was  bursting  with  pain  ;  and  this,  joined  to  the  excite
ment,  made  me  alarmingly  wild,  and  out  of  my  head  be
fore  the  interview  was  over. I  was,  I  suppose,  very  near
death  for  weeks  after  his  departure. He  left  me  a  letter,
begging  me  to  conceal  his  name,  and  thus  shield  him
from  your  anger;  and  that  is  the  reason  I  have  tried
to  do  so  thus  far,  —  not  from  any  love  of  him,  —  for  I
never  loved  him, — but  out  of  pity  for  both  him  and
you. 