ntrolled the choking anguish--calmly and
firmly she spoke, and gradually the paroxysm subsided.

"That I have sinned in loving a stranger thus, I have long felt," she
said; "and had I been aware of the nature of these feelings, they
should never have gained ascendency. But I awoke too late--my
very being was enchained. Still I may break from these engrossing
thoughts--I would do so--pain shall be welcome, if it may in time
atone for the involuntary sin of loving the stranger, and the yet
more terrible one of grieving thee. Oh, my father, do what thou wilt,
command me as thou wilt--I am henceforth wholly thine."

"And thou wilt wed Ferdinand, my child?"

"Would he still wish it, father, if he knew the whole? And is it
right, is it just, to wed him, and the truth still unrevealed? Oh, if
he do love me, as you say, how can I requite him by deceit?"

"Tell him not, tell him not," replied Henriquez, again fearfully
agitated; "let none other know what has been. What can it do, save to
grieve him beyond thy power to repair? No, no. Once his, and all these
fearful thoughts will pass away, and their sin be blotted out, in thy
true faithfulness to one who loves thee. His wife, and I know that
thou wilt love him, and be true, as if thou hadst never loved
another--"

"Ay, could I not be true, I would not wed," murmured Marie, more to
herself than to her father; "and if suffering indeed, atone for sin,
terribly will it be redeemed. But oh, my father, tell me--I have sworn
to be guided by thee, and in all things I will be--tell me, in wedding
him whom thou hast chosen, do I not still do foul wrong, if not to him
(her voice faltered), unto another, whose love is mine as well?"

"Better for him, as for thee, to wed another, Marie! Would'st thou wed
the stranger, wert thou free?"

She buried her face in his bosom, and murmured, "Never!"

"Then in what can this passion end, but in misery for both? In
constant temptation to perjure thy soul, in forsaking all for him. And
if thou didst, would it bring happiness? My child, thou art absolved,
even had aught of promise passed between you. Knowest thou not that
a maiden of herself hath no power to vow? Her father's will alone
absolves it or confirms. Thou doest him no wrong. Be Ferdinand's
bride, and all shall be forgiven, all forgotten--thou art my child, my
Miriam's child once more!"

He pressed her again fondly to him; but though she made no reply, his
arguments could not convinc