fe--his own beloved wife!

We arrived in Brook-street, and I went to dress for the
journey. They brought me some biscuits and wine and water. I
drank some hastily, but could not eat. Mrs. Middleton gave me
her last kiss, and my uncle took me down to the carriage. I
stepped into it, and Edward after me. The door was closed. I
opened mechanically the paper in my hand; it contained these
words--"Your sin shall find you out." I crumpled it again, and
flung it out of window. I talked fast and eagerly to Edward.
After an hour or two I fell into a heavy sleep. When we
reached Dashminster, I awoke in a burning fever. Edward
carried me upstairs, and laid me on a bed. I grew delirious,
and raved all night. They bled me, I believe, and in two days
I was better, and able to proceed to Hillscombe.

CHAPTER XIX.

"We take fair days in winter for the spring."

YOUNG'S NIGHT THOUGHTS.

"O how this spring of love resembleth
The uncertain glory of an April day,
Which now shows all the beauty of the scene,
And by and by a cloud takes all away."

SHAKESPEARE.

Edward, I kneel to you in spirit while I write this record of
our married life. By all the trembling hope I feel that a day
may come, not of mercy, but of justice--a day when, though you
will not forgive me, yet you will believe in me--when, though
you will not open your arms to me, yet you will say, "She was
false, but not false to me." By this hope I gather strength to
write. But as I pace up and down my narrow room, or lay my
head on the marble slab, the only cold place it can find, dare
I think of what has been, of what is not? Shall I not go mad,
and in my madness shall I not accuse you, Edward? Shall I not
tell God and man, that you have shut your heart against me,
and broken mine? And on the day of judgment, will not God ask
you what you have done with her, who, however guilty, was
guiltless to you? Oh, deeply loved and deeply mourned, ever
absent from my sight, ever present to my thoughts! lord of my
bosom's love, object of its idolatry, I do not accuse you. If
a fallen spirit banished from Heaven ever mourned over his
fall, without a murmur for the past or a hope for the future,
his feelings are like mine, when in my solitude I think that
once you loved me and called me yours.

Can it be that such things are and pass away, and leave no
traces behind them, save broken hearts and mental agonies?
Does Nature, while it rejoices with thos