d at her. Her eyes were not closed now, as they were then, but
looked back into his, revealing in their unfathomable depths an abyss
of melancholy, of sorrow, of longing, and of tenderness.

"Miss Lorton," said Windham, in a deep voice, which was shaken by an
uncontrollable emotion, and whose tremulous tones thrilled through
all Zillah's being, and often and often afterward recurred to her
memory--"Miss Lorton, this is our last ride--our last interview. Here
I will say my last farewell. To-morrow I will see you, but not alone.
Oh, my friend, my friend, my sweet friend, whom I held in my arms
once, as I saved you from death, we must now part forever! I go--I
must go. My God! where? To a life of horror! to a living death! to a
future without one ray of hope! Once it was dark enough, God knows;
but now--but; now it is intolerable; for since I have seen you I
tremble at the thought of encountering that which awaits me in
England!"

He held out his hand as he concluded. Zillah's eyes fell. His words
had been poured forth with passionate fervor. She had nothing to say.
Her despair was as deep as his. She held out her hand to meet his. It
was as cold as ice. He seized it with a convulsive grasp, and his
frame trembled as he held it.

Suddenly, as she looked down, overcome by her own agitation, a sob
struck her ears. She looked up. He seemed to be devouring her with
his eyes, as they were fixed on her wildly, hungrily, yet
despairingly. And from those eyes, which had so often gazed steadily
and proudly in the face of death, there now fell, drop by drop, tears
which seemed wrung out from his very heart. It was but for a moment.
As he caught her eyes he dropped her hand, and hastily brushed his
tears away. Zillah's heart throbbed fast and furiously; it seemed
ready to burst. Her breath failed; she reeled in her saddle. But the
paroxysm passed, and she regained her self-command.

"Let us ride home," said Windham, in a stern voice.

They rode home without speaking another word.

The next day Windham saw them on board the steamer. He stood on the
wharf and watched it till it was out of sight. Then he departed in
the train for the north, and for England.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE AGENT'S REPORT.

On the south coast of Hampshire there is a little village which looks
toward the Isle of Wight. It consists of a single street, and in
front is a spacious beach which extends for miles. It is a charming
place for those who