spoke in a cold clear voice.

"You asked me to meet you here to-night. Have you anything to say to
me? No, do not speak; perhaps I had better speak first. I have
something to say to you, and what I have to say may influence whatever
is in your mind. Listen; you remember what passed between us nearly a
month ago, when I was so weak as to let you see how much I loved you?"

Philip bowed his head in assent.

"Very good. I have come here to-night, not to give you any lover's
meeting, but to tell you that no such words must be spoken again, and
that I am about to make it impossible that they should be spoken
either by you or by me. I am going away from here, _never_, I hope, to
return."

"Going away!" he gasped. "When?"

Here was the very thing he hoped for coming to pass, and yet the words
that should have been so full of comfort fell upon him cold as ice,
and struck him into misery.

"When! why, to-morrow morning. A relation of mine is ill in Germany,
the only one I have. I never saw him, and care nothing for him, but it
will give me a pretext; and, once gone, I shall not return. I have
told Maria that I must go. She cried about it, poor girl."

At these words, all recollection of his purpose passed out of Philip's
mind; all he realized was that, unless he could alter her
determination, he was about the lose the woman he so passionately
adored, and whose haughty pride was to him in itself more charming
than all poor Maria's gentle love.

"Hilda, do not go," he said, seizing her hand, which she immediately
withdrew; "do not leave me. You know how I love you."

"And why should I not leave you, even supposing it to be true that you
do love me? To my cost I love you, and am I any longer to endure the
daily humiliation of seeing myself, the poor German companion, who has
nothing but her beauty, put aside in favour of another whom I also
love. You say you love me, and bid me stay; now, tell me what is your
purpose towards me? Do you intend to try to take advantage of my
infatuation to make me your mistress? It is, I am told, a common thing
for such proposals to be made to women in my position, whom it would
be folly for wealthy gentlemen to marry. If so, abandon that idea; for
I tell you, Philip, that I would rather die than so disgrace my
ancient name to gratify myself. I know you money-loving English do not
think very much of race unless the bearers of the name are rich; but
we do; and, although you would think it a