alone with my miserable heart. If something
comes to end all, it will be welcome;
if not, I shall return to see what atonement
has been made. There is one outrage on
her memory which must not be. Now, let
there be no mistake. I give you this warning
as from her. It would make her turn
in her grave—rise from it! So, beware!
You understand me. Should he or you
dare, there will be a penalty exacted, to
which the most refined torture you could
dream of will be as nothing!"

Jessica was so confounded at the strange
tone with which this was spoken, so
overwhelmed too with the events of the day,
she could make no reply. A secret chill
at her heart seemed to hint to her that
something like retribution or punishment
was to come on her, of which this man
might be the agent. His love and grief
were so intense, it was certain to give him
an almost supernatural power, the very
eagerness and concentration of his purpose
on this one point giving him an irresistible
strength. No wonder she shrank from
that spectral figure, which seemed to glide
away among the church pillars as if into
thin air. No wonder that from that fatal
day a sort of cloud seemed to settle down
upon her—a sense of some coming blow to
be expected sooner or later. With this
presentiment to attend her, she turned
towards her home. Home, indeed! She
longed even for the world. She could not
shut out those fierce, ever-menacing, and
avenging eyes, and all she could do was to
repeat to herself, "I am innocent as regards
her. I can ask my conscience again and
again, and it tells me I have done nothing."

Though she had made an almost ascetic
resolve that such a day of humiliation should
not be profaned by thought of anything
selfish, anything that was near or dear to
her, she could not shut out a speculation,
which, turn away her eyes as she would,
made her heart flutter.

Conway! What would he do, now
his own strange presentiment had been
fulfilled, that something would interpose
between him and that engagement, that
their hearts were to come together again?
She almost flung the idea from her with a
sort of shame; but still it came back to
her. What would Conway do now? Would
not that sudden and ghastly end turn all
his sympathies to what he had lost, and
perhaps make him shrink from one who
was to profit so speedily by the ruin of
another? She felt if he was to come before
her at that moment, she could not look at
him with unshrinking eyes, which he would
think were asking him, was he ready now
to fulfil his bond? This idea seemed to
devour her. Her impulse was to write
him, and say he must not, for the world,
even so much as dream of the plan they
had settled; it must be buried with what
had been buried that day. Then she
thought, and rightly, that this seemed like
a reminder.

It was to be resolved for her in a
moment. She was at her window, her eyes
fixed on the far-off yacht. Suddenly she
saw its faint lines quivering and shaking;
the little flakes of snowy white began to
grow and spread like wings, then flutter in
the breeze. He was going, leaving, and
without a word. Thank God for it! It
was for the best, the proper and right
course. Yet now, indeed, the cruel sense of
blank desertion came upon her, for it was
evident that he, indeed, took that view, and
thought that so ghastly a catastrophe
altered all arrangements between them.
It was harsh, almost cruel, to her.

But he had thought of her, for here was
a letter from him.

I would have asked to see you to-day,
but your own tender heart will help you to
the reason. On such a day as this I
cannot bear to think of anything but what
concerns the dead, and her terribly
mysterious end. There is a guilty feeling at
my heart that I had something to do with
it, so strangely have my idle words come
to pass. Still, as I am going away now, I
must speak plainly.

With time all this will have passed away,
and we can look back, not to these last few
wretched days, but to what was so solemnly
engaged between us. That no sensitiveness
on your side can dissolve, and that
I shall call on you to fulfil.

I now go to face debts, dangers, and
difficulties, to find some extrication, if there
be any. Not before a year shall you hear
of me. Bear your present trials for that
short space of time, at least, and then we
shall both be able to approach the matter
calmly and logically. We have neither of
us deserved any blame. During that time
think of me.

"Never," thought Jessica. "Life is all
over for me; that poor girl has vanquished
me after all. No, I dare not; her image
would always be between us, and that
dreadful last scene." Far better that
she alone should see it. Did he know