ok at me so wildly, Mabel!
I cannot repeat the words, but they are buried in here.'

"'And you heard this, there is no mistake.'

"'Mistake, oh if there could be!'

"'Still this man is--'

"'I know it--the shame and disgrace must be buried here. I dare not
speak of it, dare not reproach him--for there is one who loves me so
dearly that he would take revenge, and there might be bloodshed as well
as perfidy. Oh Mabel, I am glad you did not make yourself a slave by
loving as I wished. All this is terrible.'

"'Yes,' I said hoarsely, 'It is terrible, but it does not take me by
surprise.'

"'Then you have suspected something--oh Mabel, keep that girl away from
me. I will be silent, I will do anything a good woman ought, but the
sight of her will be too great a torment.'

"I promised to keep Zillah away if that were possible, without giving a
reason, and again pledged my word to hold all that she had said, secret
as the grave. But I went to my own room, fell upon the bed, and passed
into an agony of jealous shame.

"During the last two weeks Mrs. Harrington is much worse. All her old
complaints have come back, and she lies upon her sofa all day long,
weary and languid. Nothing can equal the devotion of her husband; as for
the son, his attentions are unremitting; does he guess why she is so
much worse, and is he striving by kindness to silence her unspoken
reproaches? She gives no sign of the trouble that is sapping away her
life, not a word has passed between us since that day. The Eatons have
left us. The atmosphere of a sick room disturbs them. Worse and
worse--alas! I greatly fear this gentle lady will never leave Seville
alive. The last remnant of strength seems to be dying out of that
fragile form.

"Zillah is most attentive--always by her door--always ready to be of
service, yet I loathe and fear the girl. There are times when her eyes
have a look that makes me shudder, and I long to remove that pale,
gentle creature from her care. But, strange enough, General Harrington
has taken a singular liking to the girl, and insists upon it that no one
can prepare his wife's medicines, or soothe her, so well. Poor lady, she
must submit, or destroy all her husband's respect for the son who has
wounded her so.

"Weaker and weaker--alas! poor lady, she seems to have no real illness,
but fades away calmly and softly, like a flower that the frost had
kissed to death.

"Harrington watches the gentle decline with silent a