his mind every other thought except that
of the mourning, stricken one before him.

Thus a long time passed, and the lady wept still, and other sounds
arose, and there were footsteps in the house, and whisperings, and
people passing to and fro; but to all these Dacres was deaf, and they
caused no more impression on his senses than if they were not. His
ears and his sense of hearing existed only for these sobs and these
sighs.

At last a pistol-shot roused him. The lady sprang up and called in
despair. A cry came back, and the lady was about to venture to the
other room, when she was driven back by the stern voice of Girasole.
Then she stood for a moment, after which she knelt, and Dacres heard
her voice in prayer. The prayer was not audible, but now and then
words struck upon his ears which gave the key to her other words, and
he knew that it was no prayer of remorse for guilt, but a cry for help
in sore affliction.

Had any thing more been needed to destroy the last vestige of Dacres's
former suspicions it was furnished by the words which he now heard.

"Oh, Heaven!" he thought; "can this woman be what I have thought her?
But if not, what a villain am I! Yet now I must rather believe myself
to be a villain than her!"

In the midst of this prayer Girasole's voice sounded, and then
Minnie's tones came clearly audible. The lady rose and listened, and a
great sigh of relief escaped her. Then Girasole descended the stairs,
and the lady again sank upon her knees.

Thus far there seemed a spell upon Dacres; but this last incident and
the clear child-voice of Minnie seemed to break it. He could no longer
keep silence. His emotion was as intense as ever, but the bonds which
had bound his lips seemed now to be loosened.

"Oh, Arethusa!" he moaned.

At the sound of his voice Mrs. Willoughby started, and rose to her
feet. So great had been her anxiety and agitation that for some time
she had not thought of another being in the room, and there had been
no sound from him to suggest his existence. But now his voice startled
her. She gave no answer, however.

"Arethusa!" repeated Dacres, gently and longingly and tenderly.

"Poor fellow!" thought Mrs. Willoughby; "he's dreaming."

"Arethusa! oh, Arethusa!" said Dacres once more. "Do not keep away.
Come to me. I am calm now."

"Poor fellow!" thought Mrs. Willoughby. "He doesn't seem to be asleep.
He's talking to me. I really think he is."

"Arethusa," said Dacres again,