my shame together!"

THE GUARDIAN-MASSINGER.

"So the struck deer, the arrow at his heart,
Lies down to die in some sequestered part;
There stretched unseen, in coverts hid from day,
Bleeds drop by drop, and pants his life away."

POPE.

I went home, and as I walked into the house I saw a letter in
Henry's handwriting lying on the table. I took it, and having
locked myself in my dressing-room, I opened it with trembling
fingers and read as follows:--

"You do not choose to answer my letters, and I am sent away
from your door like a troublesome beggar. My sister is in the
deepest affliction, and I vainly inquire of you what accounts
you have of her. You are playing a desperate game, if you
imagine, by such heartless insults, to rid yourself of my
love. They change its nature I own. I get weary of suffering
alone, and life is not long enough to waste it in the burning
strife and heart-consuming agitations in which we live. There
is an end to all things; and if for twenty-four hours longer
you trifle with me you will repent it to the day of your
death. Have I not told you that the time must come when, if
you have not learnt to love me, I shall make you hate me?"

My last letter to Henry had been intercepted; I saw it clearly
and with despair, for I had written it with that intensity of
supplication, that strength of appeal which must have reached
his heart. I had built all my hopes upon it, and now the
apparent scorn and unfeelingness of my conduct had brought him
to that hard and reckless mood which I most dreaded. I felt
that at any cost I must pacify him; and in the explanation I
sent him there was more of self-defence than accusation, more
entreaty than reproach; I addressed him rather as an injured
friend than as a cruel enemy. It was late in the day before I
had satisfied myself that the tone of my letter was calculated
to soothe and pacify him, and then I dared not trust to chance
for its delivery. With an unsteady hand I gave it to the
servant, and desired him to deliver it into Mr. Lovell's own
hand: and then the night came with its long hours of darkness,
of restless sleep and of waking misery.

How was it, that when I woke on the next morning, and felt
that the air was heavy and the atmosphere dark, I did not see
in it a sign of what that day would bring forth? How was it
that when I went into Edward's room, and gazed on every
familiar object which seemed to bring his image