ignation, he tried to seduce her under a
promise of marriage. Her virtue resisted him, and he pretended to be
ashamed of himself. The banns were published in my church. On the next
day Zebedee disappeared, and cruelly deserted her. He was a capable
servant; and I believe he got another place. I leave you to imagine
what the poor girl suffered under the outrage inflicted on her. Going
to London, with my recommendation, she answered the first advertisement
that she saw, and was unfortunate enough to begin her career in domestic
service in the very lodging-house to which (as I gather from the
newspaper report of the murder) the man Zebedee took the person whom
he married, after deserting Priscilla. Be assured that you are about to
unite yourself to an excellent girl, and accept my best wishes for your
happiness."

It was plain from this that neither the rector nor the parents and
friends knew anything of the purchase of the knife. The one miserable
man who knew the truth was the man who had asked her to be his wife.

I owed it to myself--at least so it seemed to me--not to let it be
supposed that I, too, had meanly deserted her. Dreadful as the prospect
was, I felt that I must see her once more, and for the last time.

She was at work when I went into her room. As I opened the door she
started to her feet. Her cheeks reddened, and her eyes flashed with
anger. I stepped forward--and she saw my face. My face silenced her.

I spoke in the fewest words I could find.

"I have been to the cutler's shop at Waterbank," I said. "There is the
unfinished inscription on the knife, complete in your handwriting. I
could hang you by a word. God forgive me--I can't say the word."

Her bright complexion turned to a dreadful clay-color. Her eyes were
fixed and staring, like the eyes of a person in a fit. She stood before
me, still and silent. Without saying more, I dropped the inscription
into the fire. Without saying more, I left her.

I never saw her again.

VIII.

BUT I heard from her a few days later. The letter has long since been
burned. I wish I could have forgotten it as well. It sticks to my
memory. If I die with my senses about me, Priscilla's letter will be my
last recollection on earth.

In substance it repeated what the rector had already told me. Further,
it informed me that she had bought the knife as a keepsake for Zebedee,
in place of a similar knife which he had lost. On the Saturday, she made
the purchase, a