f Henry's marriage, and told me he had
seen him in London. They had met accidentally in the street;
and he had offered to go and call on his wife; but Henry had
made some excuse or other, and the visit had not taken place.
He did not add one word regarding Henry's conduct, or what
view he had taken of it himself, but looked earnestly into my
face, as if he expected me to speak first on the subject; but
seeing I was silent, at last he said, "Ellen, was this
marriage a disappointment to you?"

"It was a relief to me."

"How so?"

"Because I had deceived Henry, and _almost_ deceived myself
into the belief that I liked him; and his marriage proved to
me bow much I had been mistaken."

Edward took my hand and kissed it; I drew it away with great
emotion, and exclaimed, "Good God, don't you know what you are
doing?"

He did not say another word, and left me abruptly.

For two days afterwards, he spoke to me but little; and when
he did so, his manner was cold.

One day that we were taking a walk together in the park, after
one or two insignificant observations had passed between us,
Edward asked me if I had ever received the book which lie had
left for me the year before. As usual, I had it in my pocket;
I took it out, and gave it to him, without making any other
answer. He opened it and turned the pages over as we walked
along.

"_Now_ is the time come," I said to myself; "_now_!" and the
blood forsook my heart, and my legs seemed to fail under me.

In a moment of morbid irritation, I had written on the blank
page of the book, the words which had remained coupled in my
mind with this gift of Edward's: "Beware; I know your secret!"
and now they were before his eyes; and now he was reading
them; and now the explanation was at hand; and all that I had
suffered before was as nothing, compared to what I had
wilfully brought on myself.

He turned to me, and said with a smile, "What do those
mysterious words mean?"

I felt as if I was dreaming, but as if in my dream a mountain
had been removed from my breast. I laughed hysterically, and
said they meant nothing. That was the first time I lied to
Edward.

He said that I must have read the book attentively, for he saw
that it was marked in different places; _he_ had never marked
a book in his life; it was a thing that never occurred to him
to do; and then he gave it back to me; and it felt to me as if
the air had grown lighter, and the sky bluer, and as if my
feet