remorse--but oh, remorse how bitter! Not that his belief was changed as to
the guilt and innocence of the parties, for he still had confidence in
Duffel, and was fully persuaded of Hadley's evil intentions. He was glad
that the designs of the latter had been frustrated, but blamed himself for
the manner in which it had been done.

But the reflections of the unhappy man, whether of reproach, sorrow, or
regret, were ended for the time by another phase in the ever-changing
condition of the invalid. In tones expressive of the deepest wretchedness,
the daughter, once more arousing from the stupor of exhaustion, would
piteously exclaim, in low, sad accents, whose inexpressible woe pierced the
afflicted watcher's heart as with scorpion daggers:

"Gone! gone!--gone without a parting word or look! Gone, and my aching eyes
shall behold him no more! Gone, and the darkness comes over me! Oh, this
horrid gloom!--this load on my heart! Father! Charles! why do you both
leave me in this dreadful place?"

"Eveline, Eveline, my dear; your father is here; he has not left you; see,
I am by you; give me your hand."

"Did somebody call me? Who is there?"

"It is I, my child, your father. Come with me; let me lead you from this
place."

"Ah, it's a strange voice! I hoped it was dear father or Charles; but, no,
no, Charles was driven away; he is gone forever! Oh, my poor heart!--and
father, he has left me too: they are gone, and I shall die here. Oh, what
will father say when he finds me dead? Well, it is best that he is away,
for now he will not know that he has killed me. Poor, dear, kind father! I
would so much like to say farewell before I go. It might be some
consolation for him to know when I am gone that I love him still!"

Every word of these last sentences went to the father's heart. How strong
must be that affection which could still cling to him so tenderly, though
he had committed such an outrage upon her feelings with regard to another!
The distressed sire bowed his head and smote his breast. Then he knelt down
by the bedside and prayed. It was the first prayer he had offered up for
years; but, oh! how earnestly he suplicated that his child might be spared
to him. In his agonized pleading, so great was the commotion in his spirit
and the emotions of his heart, that tears, the first that had bedewed his
eyes since the death of his wife, streamed down his face. May we not hope
that his prayer was heard? But the horrors of the