and white forehead towards me at that, made
every fibre in my being quiver. 'Jacqueline does not love _him_!'
exclaimed he. How sharp his voice, how changed his eye! I shrank back,
trembling as I bowed my head, thinking of the word yet to be said.

"'But he won't compare--' he went on with a severe intonation. 'Besides
her honor is engaged. You are dealing in fancies, Mrs. Hamlin.'

"I tore out of my breast the scraps of paper which had enlightened me so
horribly, and held them towards him; then bethought myself, and drew
back. 'I have proof,' said I; 'but first I must tell you that Jacqueline
is not as good a girl as you have thought her. She is not her mother's
child in the qualities of love and honor. She is destined to bring a
great woe upon your head. In her passion for this man, she has forgotten
your trust in her, the incorruptibility of your name, the honor of your
house. Be strong, sir, for God is about to smite you in your tenderest
spot.

"Ah, with what pride he towered upon me! this white-haired, stately
gentleman before whom I had hitherto held my breath in admiring awe;
towered upon me though his face was ghostly pale and his hand trembled
like an aspen as he held it out!

"'Give me the papers you hold there,' cried he. 'Either you are gone
mad, or else--Who wrote these lines?' he demanded, glancing down upon
the hard, firm scrawl that blackened the bits of paper I had given him.

"'Mr. Roger Holt,' I returned unhesitatingly. 'I found those bits in
Jacqueline's stove. Her clothes have been sent away, sir,' I continued
as I saw his face grow fixed above the scraps he consulted. 'Twilight is
coming on and--Mr. Roger Holt is a married man!'

"'What!'

"I never saw such a look flash from a human face as that which darted
from his at that terrible moment. I thought he would have fallen, but he
only dropped the papers out of his hand. 'Heaven forgive us!' murmured
I, calmed by a sight of his misery, into some semblance of of
self-control, 'but we have never understood Jacqueline. She is not to be
led, sir, by principles or duty. She loves this man, and love with her
is a stormy wind, capable of sweeping her into any abyss of contumely or
suffering. If you would save her, kill her love; the death of her lover
would only transform her into a demon.'

"He looked at me as if I had told him the world had come to an end. 'My
Jacqueline!' he murmured in a low, incredulous voice of the tenderest
yearning. 'My J