at
passed before me? Was it Edward I saw?--and did I live over
that hour? I must have seen him--for never since that day, in
dreams or in thought, have I beheld him without that dreadful
expression which haunts and pursues me. It deprived me of my
senses then--it has been killing me ever since.

When I came to myself, I was in my own room, and all the women
in the house were about me; they looked frightened and
curious, and spoke to each other in a low voice.

"Who is in the house? Who is here?" I asked with a trembling
voice.

"There's nobody here, Ma'am; Mr. Middleton is gone out; and
the carriage, which had driven to the door, is gone to the
Clarendon Hotel."

"Give me my bonnet and shawl. Make haste."

I attempted to get up, but my strength failed me.

"Bring me some wine directly."

I drank a large glassful and stood up. As I was tying on my
bonnet with trembling hands, a servant knocked at the door,
and put a letter into my maid's hand. I turned faint at the
sight of it, but took it from her and bade her leave me.

There are moments which we live through, but which we cannot
speak of. I read these words; I read them every day:--

"This is the last communication I shall ever make to you. I
shall not return to my house till you have left it. I will
never see you again, or hear your name pronounced, as long as
I live. Your own fortune, and any allowance you may desire out
of mine, will be remitted to you by my solicitors in the
manner you will direct; should you address any letters to me,
they will be returned to you unopened."

I did not faint again; I did not shed a single tear; a
dreadful weight oppressed my limbs and checked my breathing;
the source of tears was dried up within me; I groaned in
spirit; I expected nothing; I hoped nothing. I did not dare to
take a step forward; my eyes were fixed on those words, "Leave
my house for ever. I never will see you again." If I stirred,
it was to go for ever! and it could not be; it must not be. I
had not seen him for the last time; life was not over with me;
I was not condemned to that death of the soul, and endless
separation; nor sentenced to a living grave, with a heart
still throbbing with ardent and passionate affection.

Would no one help me? Would no one have mercy upon me? Was
there no voice that he would listen to,--no appeal that would
reach him? There _was_ one whom I had wronged; but whose image
rose before me in that hour of despair; t