frail boat,
and taking a step toward me, fastened a rough hand upon my shoulders.
'Arabel,' he said, hoarsely, 'your power over me is among the things of
the past. Once, I thought I loved you, but it was merely a passion which
soon burned itself out. After that, I grew to hate you; but, because I
had taken you away from home and friends, I tried to treat you civilly.
Your caresses disgusted me. I would gladly have cast you off long ago, if
I had had but the shadow of a pretext. I am to be married to a beautiful
woman in America, before many months shall elapse--a woman with a name
and a fortune which will help me pay those cursed debts that are dragging
me down like a millstone. For you I have no further use. You complain
that our unborn child will be disgraced, unless I go through the mockery
of marriage with you. There is no disgrace in the grave--and I consign
you to its dreamless sleep!' The next moment the boat was capsized, and I
was floating in the water. I cried aloud his name, beseeching him to save
me, and got only his mocking laugh in return, as he struck out for the
shore. I could not swim, and I felt myself sinking down--down to
unfathomable depths. I felt cold as ice; there was a deafening roar
in my ears, and I knew no more."

"My poor Arabel, I could curse the villain who did this cowardly thing,
but he is dead, and in the hands of God."

"When I woke to consciousness, I was lying in a rude cottage, and two
persons, unknown to me--a man and a woman--were bending over me, applying
hot flannels to my numbed limbs, and restoratives to my lips. Before
morning my child was born; but it never opened its eyes on this world.
Death took it away. I had some articles of jewelry on my person, of some
considerable value, and with these I bribed the persons who had taken me
from the river to cause Mr. Linmere to believe that I had died. They were
rough people, but they were kind-hearted, and I owe them a large debt of
gratitude for their thoughtful care of me. But for it, I should have died
in reality. As soon as I was able to bear the journey, I left France.
Linmere had already closed the cottage and gone away--none knew whither;
but I was satisfied he had departed for the United States. I left France
with no feeling of regret, save for Leo, my faithful hound. I have shed
many bitter tears, when pondering over the probable fate of my poor dog."

"Be easy on that subject, Arabel. I saw the hound but a few weeks ago.