to say to each other."

"We must; the time to speak has come!" she returned. "I've come to you,
because you could not bring yourself to rely on me. It's your own want
of faith--"

"You'd better not go on," interrupted Bressant, with a strange smile. "I
had more faith than you imagine. But there are some mountains that faith
can't move."

"Why do you still keep me off?" cried Abbie, in a tone which might have
made his heart bleed, except that of late it had been stabbed so often.
"Good God! am I so repulsive to you that, for the sake of being happy
and comfortable all your life, you can't bring yourself to recognize my
existence? Don't imagine I want to buy your love or toleration with this
money of mine. I want nothing in exchange--nothing! I can't help the
knowledge that I shall have made you rich, and so put happiness in your
power; but I ask no acknowledgment--no return. Take every thing and go!
Leave me here and believe that I am dead! Is that enough?"

"A great deal too much! You'll be sorry you've said all this. If you
knew what you were talking about, you wouldn't have said a word of it."

"Oh, you are hard to please, indeed!" exclaimed Abbie, gazing at him and
shuddering. "I pray God your heart is so cold to no one else as to me!
Poor Sophie! She would die at one such word."

"Don't speak her name," said Bressant, in a tone so stern as to be
equivalent to a threat.

He held his eyes down, so that the ugly gleam in them was hidden. Abbie
had no thought of fearing him as yet, and she would have her say.

"Do you think I don't know you're going to leave her? If it's because
you don't love her, I can say no more. You are beyond any help in this
world. But if you do, let me save her, even if I must oblige you in
doing it! You know little of her love, though, if you think she can be
happier with you rich than poor. Oh! are you so cold yourself as to
believe you are acting generously to her in this? Go back to her, or she
will die!"

The old woman took fire as she spoke, and many of the signs of age were
for the time obliterated. Some of the power and brilliancy of her youth
shone again in her eyes; her form seemed to acquire a different and
statelier contour. In the earnestness of her speech, involuntary
gestures accompanied her words; free from all exaggeration, and so truly
and gracefully fitted to her meaning as to be virtually invisible. But
Bressant was not won by it: his expression grew more ugly and r