ant reasons, had not
been recognized. Respecting my wife's secret, I passed on without
further inquiry; and, to avoid an interview with the visitor, ascended a
staircase into a conservatory connected with the upper apartments,
intending to remain there until he had departed. As I entered the
conservatory I was startled by the sound of voices, which proceeded from
the adjoining apartment,--my wife's _boudoir_,--and was transfixed at
beholding through the shrubbery, in the dim light of the room, my wife
sitting upon a sofa, exhibiting traces of powerful but suppressed
emotion, such as I had never seen in her, and partly kneeling, partly
reclining at her side, a young man, apparently in the most violent and
passionate entreaty.

'O, Evelyn! Evelyn!' he said, 'will you bid me leave you thus? Will
you have no pity? For years I toiled at my art, poor and desolate,
in a foreign land, sustained only by the hope of achieving
success--fame--fortune--to lay them before you;--your love gifting me
with all my ideal life--the hope of winning you the only incentive of my
labor. When I heard of your marriage, I dashed away my chisels, with an
oath never to resume them. In mad desperation, I destroyed the works of
years. But I have lived on in solitude and wretchedness, unvisited even
by the imaginations which once made life glorious. Now I have come to
claim you--to take you from him who robbed me. Such a marriage as yours
is not valid before just heaven. Renounce your contract. Fly with me to
Italy,--let the world say what it will. With you at my side I can create
works that will compel homage; knowing our own purity, we can laugh at
its scorn, and, contented with each other, despise both its friendship
and its enmity.'

'Stop, Frank!' she replied, 'and leave me. Do not prolong this agony.
What you wish is, it must be, impossible. It is not for myself that I
deny it. God knows I could brave any thing for you. But to yield your
request would only aid your ruin. No, no, Frank; you are mad!'

'If I am not, I soon shall be!' he murmured bitterly.

'I shall fulfill my contract to the letter,' she continued; 'or, rather,
that which was made for me. I consented to be the sacrifice, and I will
accept the fire and the knife resolutely. But you--you--should I link
myself to your fate, I should draw you to perdition. Even in the air of
Italy, my presence would be poison to you. I speak not of guilt. But my
connection--a perjured wife--would