EDITH LYLE.




                   INTRODUCTORY.

              BY ESTHER OLIVIA ARMSTRONG.

       S I sit here, this bright autumnal morning, and from the
       window of my room look out upon the river winding
       its way to the sea, there falls upon my ears the merry
chime of bells from the tower of the old gray church,-wedding-
bells they are,-and their echoes float across the water, and up
the mountain side, and then die away among the wooded cliffs
beyond, where the foliage has just been touched with the Octo-
ber frost, and has here and there a gay trimming of scarlet and
gold on its summer dress of green. There is a wedding at St.
Luke's to-day, and the bridal party is passing now, and I kiss
my hand to the beautiful bride, who flashes a smile at me from
those wonderful eyes of hers,-eyes so like in expression to those
of the elder lady who sits beside her, and but for whom that
wedding at St. Luke's would never have been. They are gone
now from my sight, and only the pealing of the bells is heard in
the quiet street, and as I muse upon the strange event which
has made the people of our town wild with excitement and curi-
osity, and of which I, perhaps, know quite as much as any one,
I ask myself, "' Why not write out the story, suppressing names,
and dates, and localities, and give it to the world, as a proof
that real life is sometimes stranger than fiction."
  And so, just as the sound of the marriage-bells dies away
among the distant hills, I take my pen tc begin a tale which
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