onger.

"It was a day in October. The stoves had been put up in the house, and
seeing Jacqueline roaming about the halls, in a renewed fit of that
strange restlessness which had affected her the day before Mr. Roger
Holt's visit, I went into her room to light a fire, and make everything
look cheerful before dusk. I found the atmosphere warm, and going to the
stove, discovered that a fire had been already kindled there, but had
gone out for want of fuel. I at once commenced to rake away the ashes,
in order to make preparations for a new one, when I came upon several
scraps of half burned paper.

"Jacqueline had been burning letters. Do you blame me for picking out
those scraps and hastening with them to another room, when I tell you
they were written in a marked and characteristic hand that bore little
or no resemblance to that of her accepted lover, and that the words
which flashed first upon my eye were those ominous ones of _my wife_!

"They were three in number, and while more or less discolored and
irregular, were still legible. Think child with what a thrill of horror
and sharp motherly anguish, I read such words as 'Love you! I would
press you in my arms if you were plague-stricken! The least turn of your
head makes my blood cringe, as if a flame had touched me. I would follow
you on my knees, if you led me round the world. Let me see Robert take
your hand again and I will--'

"'Forget you! Do we forget the dagger that has struck us? I am another
man since--'

"'I will have you if Robert goes mad and your father kills me. That I am
burdened with a wife, is nothing. What is a wife that I do not--' 'You
shall be my true wife, my--'

"'To-night then, be ready; I will wait for you at the gate. A little
resolution on your part, and then--'

"I could read no further. The living, burning truth had forced itself
upon me, that Jacqueline, our darling, our pride, the soul of our life,
stood tottering upon the brink of a gulf horrible as the mouth of hell.
For I never doubted for an instant what her answer would be to this
entreaty. In all her past life, God pity us, there had been no tokens of
that immovable hold on virtue, that would save her in such an extremity
as this. Nevertheless, to make all sure, I flew back to her room, and
tearing open bureau drawers and closet doors, discovered that her
prettiest things had been sent away. She was going, then, and on that
very night! and her father did not even know she w