m, and proceeded with evident
difficulty.

"Well, I fled with Paul Linmere. For a time I was very happy. He was kind
to me, and I loved him so! We lived in a little vine-wreathed cottage, on
the banks of the Seine, and I had my tiny flower-garden, my books, my
birds, my faithful dog Leo--and Paul! Every pleasant night he used to
take me out on the river in the little boat which bore my name on its
side. O, those nights of perfect peace! The stars shone so softly, and
the moon beamed with a mellow light peculiar to Southern moons. Those
seasons of delight are a sweet dream in my memory. They seemed stolen
from paradise--they were so perfect. I lived in a sort of blissful waking
trance, that left me nothing to desire, nothing to ask for. Fool that I
was! I thought it was to last always. A little more cordial, Louis; it
will keep the spark of life alive, perhaps, until I have finished."

"Do not exert yourself, Arabel," he said, pityingly; "I do not wish you
to."

"I shall die easier. Let me go on. After a while, Paul wearied of me.
Perhaps I was too lavish of my caresses and words of love; it might tire
him to be loved so intensely. But such was my nature. He grew cold and
distant; at times positively ill-natured. Once he struck me; but I
forgave him the blow, because he had taken too much wine. At length, it
became known to me that I was about to become a mother, and I besought
him to give me a right to his name. I could bear the shame for myself,
but my child must not be born to curse the author of its being. He
laughed me to scorn, and called me by a foul name that I cannot repeat.
But I bore it all, for the sake of my unborn child, and on my knees I
begged and prayed of him to legalize our union by right of marriage.
After the first, he made me no reply, but subsided into a sullen silence,
which I could not make him break. That night he asked me to go out
boating with him. I prepared myself with alacrity, for I thought he was
getting pleased with me, and perhaps would comply with my request. Are
you weary of my story, Louis?"

"No, no. Go on. I am listening to you, Arabel."

"It was a lovely night. The stars gleamed like drops of molten gold, and
the moon looked down, pure, and serene, and holy. Paul was unusually
silent, and I was quiet, waiting for him to speak. Suddenly, when we
reached the middle of the river, he dropped the oars, and we drifted with
the current. He sprang up, his motion nearly capsizing the