nd with pain, and stopped often
as she leaned on her companion. I lingered behind, in order not to pass
them abruptly; presently, they turned away towards the house, and I saw
them no more. Yet that frail and bending form, as I too soon afterwards
learned--that form, which I did not recognise--which, by a sort of
fatality, I saw only in a glimpse, and yet for the last time on
earth,--that form--was the wreck of Lucy D----!

"Unconscious of this event in my destiny, I left that neighbourhood, and
settled for some weeks on the borders of the Lake Keswick. There, one
evening, a letter, re-directed to me from London, reached me. The
hand-writing was that of Lucy; but the trembling and slurred characters,
so different from that graceful ease which was wont to characterize all
she did, filled me, even at the first glance, with alarm. This is the
letter--read it--you will know, then, what I have lost:--

"'I write to you, my dear, my unforgotten ----, the last letter this
hand will ever trace. Till now, it would have been a crime to write to
you; perhaps it is so still--but dying as I am, and divorced from all
earthly thoughts and remembrances, save yours, I feel that I cannot
quite collect my mind for the last hour until I have given you the
blessing of one whom you loved once; and when that blessing is given, I
think I can turn away from your image, and sever willingly the last tie
that binds me to earth. I will not afflict you by saying what I have
suffered since we parted--with what anguish I thought of what _you_
would feel when you found me gone--and with what cruel, what fearful
violence, I was forced into becoming the wretch I now am. I was hurried,
I was driven, into a dreadful and bitter duty--but I thank God that I
have fulfilled it. What, what have I done, to have been made so
miserable throughout life as I have been! I ask my heart, and tax my
conscience--and every night I think over the sins of the day; they do
not seem to me heavy, yet my penance has been very great. For the last
two years, I do sincerely think that there has not been one day which I
have not marked with tears. But enough of this, and of myself. You,
dear, dear L----, let me turn to you! Something at my heart tells me
that you have not forgotten that once we were the world to each other,
and even through the changes and the glories of a man's life, I think
you will not forget it. True, L----, that I was a poor and friendless,
and not too-well e