ess,--long after he had been tossed on a sea of
troubles, touching the seeming decay in her affections. Just as she is
about to be enveloped in the toils which were spread for her,--just as
she is about to surrender herself to the hated nuptials, and submit to
the embrace of one whom she loathed more than she dreaded
death,--Ravenswood, the man whom Heaven had made for her, presents
himself.

What followed was quiet, yet intensely dramatic. Ravenswood, wrought to
the verge of despair, bursts upon the scene at the critical moment,
detaches Emily from her party, and leads her slowly forward. He is
unutterably sad. He questions her very tenderly; asks her whether she is
not enforced; whether she is taking this step of her own free will and
accord; whether she has indeed dismissed the dear, old fond love for him
from her heart forever? He must hear it from her own lips. When timidly
and feebly informed that such is indeed the case, he requests her to
return a certain memento,--a silver trinket which had been given her as
the symbol of his love on the occasion of their betrothal. Raising her
hand to her throat she essays to draw it from her bosom. Her fingers
rest upon the chain which binds it to her neck, but the o'erfraught
heart is still,--the troubled, but unconscious head droops upon his
shoulder,--he lifts the chain from its resting-place, and withdraws the
token from her heart.

Supporting her with one hand and holding this badge of a lost love with
the other, he says, looking down upon her with a face of anguish, and in
a voice of despair, "_And she could wear it thus!_"

As this scene rose and lived before him, Surrey exclaimed, "Surely that
must have been the perfection of art, to have produced an effect so
lasting and profound,--'and she could wear it thus!'--ah," he said, as
in response to some unexpressed thought, "but Emily loved Ravenswood.
Why--?" Evidently he was endeavoring to answer a question that baffled
him.

CHAPTER XII

"_And down on aching heart and brain
Blow after blow unbroken falls._"

BOKER

"A letter for you, sir," said the clerk, as Surrey stopped at the desk
for his key. It was a bulky epistle, addressed in his aunt Russell's
hand, and he carried it off, wondering what she could have to say at
such length.

He was in no mood to read or to enjoy; but, nevertheless, tore open the
cover, finding within it a double letter. Taking the envelope of one
from the fold