r ever, and without a farewell to any. He knew this was not
a gracious way to treat those who had been uniformly affectionate and
kind--who had been to him like dear sisters--but he dreaded a possible
meeting. He could not answer for himself, either, as to what charges he
might be led to make against Florence, or what weakness of character he
might exhibit in the midst of his affliction. "I will simply narrate so
much as will show that we have agreed to separate, and are never to meet
more," muttered he. "Florence may tell as much more as she likes, and
give what version of me she pleases. It matters little now how or what
they think of one whose heart is already in the grave." And thus saying,
he gained his room, and, locking the door, began to write. Deeply
occupied in his task, which he found so difficult that several
half-scrawled sheets already littered the table before him, he never
felt the time as it passed. It was already midnight before he was aware
of it, and still his letter was not finished. It was so hard to say
though and not too much; so hard to justify himself in any degree and
yet spare _her_, against whom he would not use one word of reproach; so
hard to confess the misery that he felt, and yet not seem abject in the
very, avowal.

Not one of his attempts had satisfied him. Some were too lengthy, some
too curt and brief some read cold, stern, and forbidding; others seemed
like half entreaties for a more merciful judgment; in fact he was but
writing down each passing emotion of his mind, and recording the varying
passions that swayed him.

As he sat thus, puzzled and embarrassed, he sprung up from his chair
with terror at a cry that seemed to fill the room, and make the very air
vibrate around him. It was a shriek as of one in the maddest agony, and
lasted for some seconds. He thought it came from the lake, and he flung
open his window and listened, but all was calm and still, the very
faintest night air was astir, and not even the leaves moved. He then
opened his door, and crept stealthily out upon the corridor: but all was
quiet within the house. Noiselessly he walked to the head of the stairs,
and listened; but not a sound nor a stir was to be heard. He went back
to his room, agitated and excited. He had read of those conditions of
cerebral excitement when the nerves of sense present impressions which
have no existence in fact, and the sufferers fancy that they have seen
sights, or heard sounds, wh