you should
have a secret of such importance that it cannot be revealed, and which
has made you tremble at the recognition of that man, when at the same
time you declare your innocence. Did innocence and mystery ever walk
hand in hand?"

"Your addressing me as Mr O'Donahue, Miss Phillips, has pointed out to
me the impropriety I have been guilty of in making use of your Christian
name. I thought that that confidence which you placed in me when, as a
mere boy, I told you exactly what I now repeat, that the secret was not
my own, would not have been now so cruelly withdrawn. I have never
varied in my tale, and I can honestly say that I have never felt
degraded when I have admitted that I have a mystery connected with me;
nay, if it should please Heaven that I have the option given me to
suffer in my own person, or reveal the secret in question, I trust that
I shall submit to my fate with constancy, and be supported in my
misfortune by the conviction of my innocence. I feel that I was not
wrong in the communication that I made to you yesterday morning that I
must leave this place. I came here because you were living here--you to
whom I felt so devoted for your kindness and sympathy when I was poor
and friendless; now that I am otherwise, you are pleased to withdraw not
only your good will, but your confidence in me; and as the spell is
broken which has drawn me to this spot, I repeat, that as soon as I can,
with justice to my patrons, I shall withdraw myself from your presence."

Our hero's voice faltered before he had finished speaking; and then
turning away slowly, without looking up, he quitted the room.

CHAPTER FORTY.

IN WHICH OUR HERO TRIES CHANGE OF AIR.

The reader will observe that there has been a little altercation at the
end of the last chapter. Emma Phillips was guilty of letting drop a
received truism, or rather a metaphor, which offended our hero. "Did
innocence and mystery ever walk hand in hand?" If Emma had put that
question to us, we, from our knowledge of the world, should have
replied, "Yes, very often, my dear Miss Phillips." But Emma was wrong,
not only in her metaphor, but in the time of her making it. Why did she
do so? Ah! that is a puzzling question to answer; we can only say, at
our imminent risk, when this narrative shall be perused by the other
sex, that we have made the discovery that women are not perfect; that
the very best of the sex are full of contradiction, and that