ould give up all my life and all my hope, and
every thing that I have. For you, oh! my sweet love, I have trampled
upon honor and duty, and have turned my back upon the holy memories
of my father! For you I have stifled my conscience and denied my God!
Oh! my own, my only love, listen and answer. In the name of God, and
by all your hopes of heaven, I implore you to answer me truly this
one question. Who are you? What is your name? How is it that Mrs.
Hart has made this mistake?"

And as Lord Chetwynde gave utterance to this appeal there was in his
voice an anguish of entreaty, as though his very life hung upon her
answer. It thrilled to the inmost soul of Zillah, who herself was
wrought up to an excitement which was equal to his, if not superior.

"Mrs. Hart has made no mistake," replied Zillah, in low, solemn
tones; "she has spoken the truth. As you have asked, so must I
answer. In the name of God, then, I tell you. Lord Chetwynde, that I
am Zillah, daughter of General Pomeroy, and--_your wife_!"

"Oh, my God!" cried Lord Chetwynde, with a deep groan.

He dropped her hand. He staggered back, and looked at her with a face
in which there was nothing else than horror.

What was then in his mind Zillah could not possibly know. She
therefore interpreted that look of his from her own knowledge and
suspicions only. She read in it only his own unconquerable hate, his
invincible aversion to her, which now, at the mention of her true
name, had revived in all its original force, and destroyed utterly
the love which he had professed. All was lost! lost! lost! lost! and
doubly lost! Better far never to have seen him than, having seen him
and known him and loved him, to lose him thus. Such were her
thoughts. Already her emotion had been overwhelming; this was the
last, and it was too much. With a low moan of entreaty and of despair
she wailed out the name which she loved so much. It was that word
"Windham," which he had made so sweet to her.

Saying this, and with that moan of despair, she threw up her arms
wildly, and sank down senseless at his feet.

CHAPTER LXXVI.

HILDA'S LAST VENTURE.

When Obed Chute came back he found Lord Chetwynde holding Zillah in
his arms, pressing her to his heart, and looking wildly around with a
face of agony. "Quick! quick!" he cried. "Water, for God's sake!
She's fainted! She's dying! Quick!"

In a moment a dozen servants were summoned, and Zillah was plied with
restoratives ti