squandered liberal allowances. But
will that satisfy your conscience, while you still possess ample
means to aid him? Will you permit the man whose name you bear to
live on other charity than your own,--and finally, to fill a
pauper's grave? Oh, Evelyn! was it for this that you took my darling,
my idol, from my clinging, loving arms? Will you see his body
writhing in the agony of disease, and his precious, immortal soul
in fearful jeopardy, while you stand afar off, surrounded by every
luxury that ingenuity can suggest, and gold purchase? Oh, Evelyn!
be merciful; do your duty. Like a brave, true, though injured woman,
go to Maurice, and strive to make him comfortable; to lighten, by
your pardon, his sad, heavily laden heart. By your past, your
memories of your betrothal, your hopes of heaven, and above all, by
your marriage vows, I implore you to discharge your sacred duties."

A bitter smile twisted the muscles about Mrs. Gerome's mouth, as she
gazed into the quivering, eloquent face of her companion, and listened
to the impetuous appeal that poured so pathetically over her burning
lips.

"Edith, you amaze me. Is it possible that after all your injuries you
can cling so fondly, so madly, to the man who slighted, and
humiliated, and blighted you?"

"Ah! you are his wife, and I am the ridiculed and pitied victim of his
flirtation, so says the world; but my affection outlives yours.
Evelyn, I have loved him from the time when I can first recollect; I
loved him with a deathless devotion that neither his unworthiness, nor
time, nor eternity can conquer; and to-day, I tell you that he is dear
to me,--dear to me as some precious corpse, over which a gravestone
has gathered moss for eight weary, dreary years. The angels in heaven
would not blush for the feeling in my heart towards Maurice Carlyle;
and the God who must soon judge me will not condemn the pure and
sacred love I cherish for the only man who could ever have been my
husband, but whom I have resolutely refused to see, even when the
world believed you dead. I cannot go to him, and comfort, and provide
for him now; but, in the name of God, and your oath, and if not for
your own sake, at least for his and for mine, I ask you once more,
Evelyn Carlyle, will you hasten to your erring but unhappy husband?"

Her scarlet cheeks and lips, her glowing brown eyes, and waving yellow
hair, formed a singular contrast to the colorless, cold face of her
listener; whose steely g