'It's no manner of use, Mr. Markham; she's poorly, I tell you.'

Just in time to prevent me from committing the impropriety of taking the
citadel by storm, and pushing forward unannounced, an inner door opened,
and little Arthur appeared with his frolicsome playfellow, the dog. He
seized my hand between both his, and smilingly drew me forward.

'Mamma says you're to come in, Mr. Markham,' said he, 'and I am to go out
and play with Rover.'

Rachel retired with a sigh, and I stepped into the parlour and shut the
door. There, before the fire-place, stood the tall, graceful figure,
wasted with many sorrows. I cast the manuscript on the table, and looked
in her face. Anxious and pale, it was turned towards me; her clear, dark
eyes were fixed on mine with a gaze so intensely earnest that they bound
me like a spell.

'Have you looked it over?' she murmured. The spell was broken.

'I've read it through,' said I, advancing into the room,--'and I want to
know if you'll forgive me--if you can forgive me?'

She did not answer, but her eyes glistened, and a faint red mantled on
her lip and cheek. As I approached, she abruptly turned away, and went
to the window. It was not in anger, I was well assured, but only to
conceal or control her emotion. I therefore ventured to follow and stand
beside her there,--but not to speak. She gave me her hand, without
turning her head, and murmured in a voice she strove in vain to
steady,--'Can you forgive me?'

It might be deemed a breach of trust, I thought, to convey that lily hand
to my lips, so I only gently pressed it between my own, and smilingly
replied,--'I hardly can. You should have told me this before. It shows
a want of confidence--'

'Oh, no,' cried she, eagerly interrupting me; 'it was not that. It was
no want of confidence in you; but if I had told you anything of my
history, I must have told you all, in order to excuse my conduct; and I
might well shrink from such a disclosure, till necessity obliged me to
make it. But you forgive me?--I have done very, very wrong, I know; but,
as usual, I have reaped the bitter fruits of my own error,--and must reap
them to the end.'

Bitter, indeed, was the tone of anguish, repressed by resolute firmness,
in which this was spoken. Now, I raised her hand to my lips, and
fervently kissed it again and again; for tears prevented any other reply.
She suffered these wild caresses without resistance or resentment; then,
suddenl