and feeling--with whom we have been linked
by all the sacred ties of mutual confidence--with whose sorrows we have
sympathised, and ~400~~ whose smiles we have hailed as the freed captive
hails the sunshine and the dews of heaven--that one whom for these
things we have loved with all the deepest instincts of an earnest and
impassioned nature, and for whose truth we would have answered as for
our own, is false and unworthy such true affection--oh! this is bitter
grief indeed! Deep sorrow, absorbing all the faculties of the soul,
leaves no room for any other emotion; and in the one idea, that Clara
Saville--Miss Clara Saville, whom my imagination had depicted the simple,
the loving, the true-hearted--was lost to me for ever, I forgot for
somc time the existence of Wilford or the fact that in my anger I had
stricken down and possibly seriously injured Cumberland. But as the
first agony of my grief began to wear off, I became anxious to learn
the extent of the punishment I had inflicted on him, and accordingly
despatched a boy to Peter Barnett, requesting him to send me word how
matters stood.

During his absence it occurred to me that, as Wilford had been
introduced to her under a feigned name, Clara must be utterly ignorant
of the evil reputation attaching to him, and that--although this did,
not in any way affect her heartless conduct towards me--it was only
right that she should be made aware of the true character of the man
with whom she had to deal; therefore, painful as it was to hold any
communication with her after what had passed, 1 felt that the time might
come when my neglect of this duty might afford me cause for the most
bitter self-reproach. Accordingly, asking for pen, ink, and paper, I sat
down and wrote the following note:--

"After the occurrences of this morning, I had thought never, either by
word or letter, to hold further communication with you; by your own act
you have separated us for ever; and I--yes, I can say it with truth--am
glad that it should be so--it prevents all conflict between reason and
feeling. But I have what I deem a duty to perform towards you--a duty
rendered all the more difficult, because my motives are liable to cruel
misconstruction; but it is a duty, and therefore must be done. You
are, probably, as little aware of the true character of the man calling
himself Fleming as of his real name; of him may be said, as of the
Italian of old, that 'his hate is fatal to man, and his l