y turning from me, she paced twice or thrice through the room. I
knew by the contraction of her brow, the tight compression of her lips,
and wringing of her hands, that meantime a violent conflict between
reason and passion was silently passing within. At length she paused
before the empty fire-place, and turning to me, said calmly--if that
might be called calmness which was so evidently the result of a violent
effort,--'Now, Gilbert, you must leave me--not this moment, but soon--and
you must never come again.'

'Never again, Helen? just when I love you more than ever.'

'For that very reason, if it be so, we should not meet again. I thought
this interview was necessary--at least, I persuaded myself it was
so--that we might severally ask and receive each other's pardon for the
past; but there can be no excuse for another. I shall leave this place,
as soon as I have means to seek another asylum; but our intercourse must
end here.'

'End here!' echoed I; and approaching the high, carved chimney-piece, I
leant my hand against its heavy mouldings, and dropped my forehead upon
it in silent, sullen despondency.

'You must not come again,' continued she. There was a slight tremor in
her voice, but I thought her whole manner was provokingly composed,
considering the dreadful sentence she pronounced. 'You must know why I
tell you so,' she resumed; 'and you must see that it is better to part at
once: --if it be hard to say adieu for ever, you ought to help me.' She
paused. I did not answer. 'Will you promise not to come?--if you won't,
and if you do come here again, you will drive me away before I know where
to find another place of refuge--or how to seek it.'

'Helen,' said I, turning impatiently towards her, 'I cannot discuss the
matter of eternal separation calmly and dispassionately as you can do.
It is no question of mere expedience with me; it is a question of life
and death!'

She was silent. Her pale lips quivered, and her fingers trembled with
agitation, as she nervously entwined them in the hair-chain to which was
appended her small gold watch--the only thing of value she had permitted
herself to keep. I had said an unjust and cruel thing; but I must needs
follow it up with something worse.

'But, Helen!' I began in a soft, low tone, not daring to raise my eyes to
her face, 'that man is not your husband: in the sight of heaven he has
forfeited all claim to--' She seized my arm with a grasp of startlin