len, and that was something. He
went on in a dry, broken, and hurried manner: "I have, indeed,
bad news to tell you; but I hope and pray that the case may be
one of more alarm than of actual danger. Your uncle has sent
an express for me; he believes himself to be dying, and he
charges me not to lose a minute in hurrying to him. The
carriage is at the door, and I must take leave of you. Here is
your aunt's letter, and one from the physician at Hyeres. This
last affords considerable hope that Mr. Middleton may yet be
spared to us..."

"Oh! may I not--should I not go to him too?"

"The state to which you have reduced yourself by your
imprudence makes it impossible."

"For God's sake, let me go with you, Edward."

I took his hand, but he drew it abruptly away. I mentally
cursed the day on which I was born.

"Calm yourself," said Edward, sternly; "I cannot speak to you
now: I shall write to you. A new state of things must begin
between us; but this is no time for an explanation."

"No, no! you _cannot_, you _shall_ not leave me with so
horrible a doubt, so dreadful a fear..."

"Have you forgotten that your uncle is dying? Is this a moment
for theatrical display?--for the exhibition of a feigned
tenderness?"

"Feigned! Good God! is it come to that?"

"Have you no message to send him?--no pardon to implore of him
as well as of me?"

"Edward! what are you saying? Edward! Edward!--do you know?
Have you heard?--Do you forgive? I am innocent!--on my knees I
swear that I am innocent!"

"Innocent! Yes, I believe you are what you have learned to
call innocent,--and may God keep you so. I dare not trust
myself to say another word. I have struggled to be calm; I
have prayed earnestly for strength against myself,--strength
not to cast you off, and it has been given me. God bless you,
and forgive you! I shall write to you soon and often, and, I
hope, send better accounts of Mr. Middleton. Write to me and
to your aunt."

He coldly held out his hand to me, and I felt as if I was
dying. I opened my arms wildly, and cried, "Kill me, but do
not leave me so!"

A convulsive emotion passed over his face; he bent over me and
kissed me. I threw my arms round his neck and clung to him.
Oh! did not all the love of my soul pass into his, in that one
last embrace? As my throbbing heart was pressed to his, did
not each pulsation tell all its passionate tenderness? For an
instant he seemed to feel it, for he drew me closer and clos