rifles in comparison with the impending ruin. He would either
entirely dispel Perdita's suspicions, or quit her for ever. "My dear girl,"
he said, "I have been to blame; but you must pardon me. I was in the wrong
to commence a system of concealment; but I did it for the sake of sparing
you pain; and each day has rendered it more difficult for me to alter my
plan. Besides, I was instigated by delicacy towards the unhappy writer of
these few lines."

Perdita gasped: "Well," she cried, "well, go on!"

"That is all--this paper tells all. I am placed in the most difficult
circumstances. I have done my best, though perhaps I have done wrong. My
love for you is inviolate."

Perdita shook her head doubtingly: "It cannot be," she cried, "I know that
it is not. You would deceive me, but I will not be deceived. I have lost
you, myself, my life!"

"Do you not believe me?" said Raymond haughtily.

"To believe you," she exclaimed, "I would give up all, and expire with joy,
so that in death I could feel that you were true--but that cannot be!"

"Perdita," continued Raymond, "you do not see the precipice on which you
stand. You may believe that I did not enter on my present line of conduct
without reluctance and pain. I knew that it was possible that your
suspicions might be excited; but I trusted that my simple word would cause
them to disappear. I built my hope on your confidence. Do you think that I
will be questioned, and my replies disdainfully set aside? Do you think
that I will be suspected, perhaps watched, cross-questioned, and
disbelieved? I am not yet fallen so low; my honour is not yet so tarnished.
You have loved me; I adored you. But all human sentiments come to an end.
Let our affection expire--but let it not be exchanged for distrust and
recrimination. Heretofore we have been friends--lovers--let us not
become enemies, mutual spies. I cannot live the object of suspicion--you
cannot believe me--let us part!"

"Exactly so," cried Perdita, "I knew that it would come to this! Are we not
already parted? Does not a stream, boundless as ocean, deep as vacuum, yawn
between us?"

Raymond rose, his voice was broken, his features convulsed, his manner calm
as the earthquake-cradling atmosphere, he replied: "I am rejoiced that you
take my decision so philosophically. Doubtless you will play the part of
the injured wife to admiration. Sometimes you may be stung with the feeling
that you have wronged me, but the condolence of