ld; if I dared! But I am chained on
every hand."

"But you are going to break those chains; you are going to be free; you
are going to be happy."

Her words nerved me. The impossible seemed possible, and yet everything
was misty.

"Only one thing can make me happy," I said, "and that can never be now.
I have lost my strength; I am become a pitiful coward."

"You are going to be happy!" she repeated.

"Miss Forrest," I said, "do not mock me. My life for days has been a
hell. I have had a terrible existence; no light shines in the sky. You
cannot think what your words mean to me, or you would not speak them."

"Will you not, for my sake, if not for your own, exert yourself? Will
you not think of my happiness a little? The thought of marrying that
man is madness."

"Miss Forrest," I cried, "you must think I have lost all manhood, all
self-respect, when you hear what I say; but the only thing that could
make me think of trying to do what is ten thousand times my duty to do,
is that you will give me some hope that, if I should succeed, you will
be the wife of such a poor thing as I am."

She looked at me intently. She was very pale, and her eyes shone like
stars. Beautiful she looked beyond compare, and so grand, so noble. She
was tied down to no conventionalities; whither her pure true heart led
her, she followed.

"If you succeed," she said, "I will be your wife."

"But not simply from a feeling of pity?" I cried. "I could not let you
do that. I have manliness enough for that even yet."

"No," she said proudly, "but because you are the only man I ever did or
can love."

For a minute I forgot my woes, my pains. No ghastly deed taunted me with
its memory, no dark cloud hung in the skies. I felt my Gertrude's lips
against mine; I felt that her life was given to me. I was no longer
alone and desolate; a pure, beautiful woman had trusted me so fully, so
truly, that hope dawned in my sky, and earth was heaven.

"Now, Justin," she said, after a few minutes of happy silence, "you must
away. Every hour may be precious. God knows how gladly I would be with
you, but it must not be. But remember, my hope lies in you, and my love
is given to you. God bless you!"

She went away then and left me; while I, without knowing why, prepared
to start for London.

I had a great work to do. I had, if I was to win Gertrude for my wife,
to break and crush Voltaire's power over me. I had to find Kaffar, if he
was to be found, and