-all the nurture we bestow on ourselves--all our desire to win
a loftier sphere, when we are thus the tools of the merest chance--the
victims of the pettiest villainy; and our very existence--our very
senses almost, at the mercy of every traitor and every fool!"

There was something in Ernest's voice, as well as in his reflections,
which appeared so unnaturally calm and deep that it startled Florence,
with a fear more acute than his previous violence had done. He rose,
and muttering to himself, walked to and fro, as if insensible of her
presence--in fact he was so. At length he stopped short, and fixing his
eyes upon Lady Florence, said in a whispered and thrilling tone:

"Now, then, the name of our undoer?"

"No, Ernest, no--never, unless you promise me to forego the purpose
which I read in your eyes. He has confessed--he is penitent--I have
forgiven him--you will do so too!"

"His name!" repeated Maltravers, and his face, before very flushed, was
unnaturally pale.

"Forgive him--promise me."

"His name, I say,--his name?"

"Is this kind?--you terrify me--you will kill me!" faltered out
Florence, and she sank on the sofa exhausted: her nerves, now so
weakened, were perfectly unstrung by his vehemence, and she wrung her
hands and wept piteously.

"You will not tell me his name?" said Maltravers, softly. "Be it so. I
will ask no more. I can discover it myself. Fate the Avenger will reveal
it."

At the thought he grew more composed; and as Florence wept on, the
unnatural concentration and fierceness of his mind again gave way,
and, seating himself beside her, he uttered all that could soothe, and
comfort, and console. And Florence was soon soothed! And there, while
over their heads the grim skeleton was holding the funeral pall, they
again exchanged their vows, and again, with feelings fonder than of old,
spoke of love.

CHAPTER V.

"Erichtho, then,
Breathes her dire murmurs, which enforce him bear
Her baneful secrets to the spirits of horror."--MARLOWE.

WITH a heavy step Maltravers ascended the stairs of his lonely house
that night, and heavily, with a suppressed groan, did he sink upon the
first chair that proffered rest.

It was intensely cold. During his long interview with Lady Florence, his
servant had taken the precaution to go to Seamore Place, and make
some hasty preparations for the owner's return. But the bedroom looked
comfortless and bare, the curtains were taken down, the c