tures were convulsed, and
the sound of her voice was horrible.

"Darken not these doors with your presence; the curse of Cain
is upon you; his mark in on your forehead; and the vengeance
of Heaven shall overtake you! The voice of the murdered child
calls it down upon you from her watery grave! The last
convulsive struggle of the babe who died this morning cries
out against you! Ay, tremble and turn pale, and fall upon your
knees, for your turn shall come at last! You shall weep, who
have made others weep! You shall be trampled upon, who have
trampled upon others! Your husband shall discard you! your
vile lover shall forsake you; and when my child--when my Alice
is dead--"

"Dead! Alice! Good God! Is _Alice_ in danger?"

"In danger! Did you think that--betrayed, insulted, forsaken,
with a child at her breast, and a dagger in her heart--my
flower, my treasure, my child, would live? You have murdered
her! Go, go to Henry Lovell, tell him that his child is dead,
that his wife is dying; and the curse of a bereaved mother,
the agonies of long lingering years of remorse, the hatred of
life, and the terror of death, be upon you both! And may the
Almighty, to whom vengeance belongs, pour down upon your
guilty heads the full vials of His wrath!"

I closed my eyes, and murmured "God forbid." When I opened
them again, she was gone: the maid was holding the street-door
open, and I walked out of the house. As I got into the street
I grew dizzy, and caught hold of the railing. A hand was
stretched out to me, and supported me for an instant. I
recovered myself, and saw that it was Robert Harding on whom I
was leaning. I started back, and looked into his face with
wild affright. "Shall I call a coach for you?" he said,
gently. I bowed my head in assent, and he went to fetch one.
When it came, he let down the step and put me in. As he did
so, I pointed to the window and said, "Will she die?"

"God only knows that," he answered in a gruff voice. "You seem
like to die too; and well you may!"

I bade the coachman drive me home; and all the way I repeated
to myself in a low voice--_home_, _home;_ and when we reached
it, I hardly dared to enter again that house from which Edward
had banished me. The porter put into my hand some notes and
letters. I took them, and, for the last time, went up to my
own room. It was getting dark, and I rang for candles. I
looked at the letters in my hand with a sort of vague
groundless hope, that som