w, singularly heartless; and he
had happened to marry a girl whose greatest charm to him had been her
tenderness of heart, her innocent candor, and that purity of mind which
comes of hatred--not ignorance--of sin. A worldlier woman would not have
been so shocked; but he had never desired less crystalline transparency
of mind--less exquisite whiteness of soul, for Nan. No; that was the
worst of it: the very qualities that he admired and respected in her
bore witness against him now.

He remembered the last hours of his father's life--how they had been
embittered by his selfish anger, for which he had never been able to
make amends. Was his wife also to die without giving him a word of
forgiveness, or hearing him ask her pardon? If she died, he knew that he
would have slain her as surely as if he had struck her to the ground
with his strong right hand. For almost the first time in his life Sydney
found himself utterly unnerved by his anxiety. His love for Nan was the
truest and strongest emotion that he had ever felt. And that his love
for her should be sullied in her eyes by comparison with the transient
influence which Milly had exercised over him was an intolerable outrage
on his best and holiest affections and on hers. "What must she think of
me?" he said to himself; and he was fain to confess that she could not
think much worse of him than he deserved. It was a bitter harvest that
he was reaping from seed that he himself had sown.

He was almost incapable of work during those terrible days when he did
not know whether Nan would live or die. He got through as much as was
absolutely imperative; but he dreaded being away from the house, lest
that "change," of which the nurses spoke, should come during his
absence; and he managed to stay at home for many hours of the day.

But at last the corner was turned: a little return of strength was
reported, and by and by the doctor assured him that, although his
patient still required very great care, the immediate danger was past,
and there was at least a fair hope of her ultimate recovery. But he
might not see her--yet.

So much was gained; but Sydney's spirits did not rise at once. He was
conscious of some relief from the agony of suspense, but black care and
anxiety sat behind him still. He was freer to come and go, however, than
he had been for some time, and the first use he made of his liberty was
to go to the very person whom he had once vowed never to see again--his