ard, at a distance only? I wouldn't care so much,
I think, if I could see you sometimes.'

'Now, there, Nan, you must not cry; you know 'tis all past and gone more
than a year ago. 'Twas all d----d folly--all my fault; I'm sorry,
Nan--I'm sorry; and I'm a changed man, and I'll lead a better life, and
so do you, my poor girl.'

'But mayn't I see you? Not to spake to you, Masther Richard. Only
sometimes to see you, far off, maybe.' Poor Nan was crying all the time
she spoke.--'Well, well, I'll go, I will, indeed, Masther Richard; only
let me kiss your hand--an' oh! no, no, don't say good-bye, an' I'll
go--I'm gone now, an' maybe--just maybe, you might some time chance to
wish to see your poor, wild Nan again--only to see her, an' I'll be
thinking o' that.'

The old feeling--if anything so coarse deserved the name--was gone; but
he pitied her with all his heart; and that heart, such as it was--though
she did not know it--was bleeding for her.

He saw her, poor creature, hurrying away in her light clothing, through
the sharp, moonlight chill, which, even in the wrapping of his thick
cloak, he felt keenly enough. She looked over her shoulder--then
stopped; perhaps, poor thing, she thought he was relenting, and then she
began to hurry back again. They cling so desperately to the last chance.
But that, you know, would never do. Another pleading--another
parting--So he turned sharply and strode into the thickets of the close
brushwood, among which the white mists of night were hanging. He
thought, as he stepped resolutely and quickly on, with a stern face, and
heavy heart, that he heard a wild sobbing cry in the distance, and that
was poor Nan's farewell.

So Devereux glided on like a ghost, through the noiseless thicket, and
scarcely knowing or caring where he went, emerged upon the broad open
plateau, and skirting the Fifteen Acres, came, at last, to a halt upon
the high ground overlooking the river--which ran, partly in long trains
of silver sparkles, and partly in deep shadow beneath him. Here he
stopped; and looked towards the village where he had passed many a
pleasant hour--with a profound and remorseful foreboding that there were
no more such pleasant hours for him; and his eye wandered among the
scattered lights that still twinkled from the distant windows; and he
fancied he knew, among them all, that which gleamed pale and dim through
the distant elms--the star of his destiny; and he looked at it across
the wate