nd, leaning his folded arms on the top of the easel, looked
down into her face.

"There is only one condition upon which I could consent to go; that is in
your hands. Will you accompany me?"

She understood it all in an instant, saw the new form in which the trial
presented itself, and her soul sickened.

"Mr. Clifton, if I were your sister, or your child, I would gladly go; but
as your pupil, I cannot."

"As Electra Grey, certainly not; but as Electra Clifton you could go."

"Electra Grey will be carved on my tombstone."

"Then you decide my fate. I remain, and wait the slow approach of death."

"No, before just Heaven! I take no such responsibility, nor shall you
thrust it on me. You are a man, and must decide your destiny for yourself;
I am a poor girl, having no claim upon, no power over you. It is your duty
to preserve the life which God gave you, in the way prescribed by your
physician, and I have no voice in the matter. It is your duty to go South,
and it will be both weak and wicked to remain here under existing
circumstances."

"My life is centred in you; it is worthless, nay, a burden, separated from
you."

"Your life should be centred in something nobler, better; in your duty, in
your profession. It is suicidal to fold your hands listlessly, and look to
me as you do."

"All these things have I tried, and I am weary of the hollowness, weary of
life, and the world. So long as I have your face here, I care not to cross
my own threshold till friendly hands bear me out to my quiet resting-place
under the willows of Greenwood. Electra, my darling, think me weak if you
will, but bear with me a little longer, and then this, my shadow, shall
flit from your young heart, leaving not even a memory to haunt you. Be
patient! I will soon pass away to another, a more peaceful, blessed
sphere."

A melancholy smile lighted his fair waxen features, as waning, sickly
sunshine in an autumn evening flickers over sculptured marble in a silent
churchyard.

How she compassioned his great weakness, as he wiped away the moisture
which, even on that cold day, glistened on his forehead.

"Oh! I beseech you to go to Cuba. Go, and get strong once more."

"Nothing will ever help me now. Sunny skies and soft breezes bring no
healing for me. I want to die here, in my home, where your hands will be
about me; not among strangers in Cuba or Italy."

He turned to the fire, and springing up, she left the room. The solemn
silence