shun it. But Arthur, Arthur, if you do
not help me, I am lost. You are a man, an honest man, an honorable man,
who will not wrong your friend, or tempt the woman that cannot love you
without sin. Oh, save me from myself--from you--from the cruel wrong
that I could even dream of against him to whom I have sworn my woman's
faith. I am a child in your hands, Arthur, and in the face of the
reproaching Providence above me, I feel--I feel that I am at your mercy.
I feel that what you speak I must listen to; that should you bid me
stand beside you at the altar, I should not have courage to refuse. I
feel, oh God! Arthur, that I love you, and am betrothed to Harold. But
you are strong--you have courage, will, the power to defy such weakness
of the heart--and you will save me, for I know you are a good and honest
man."

As she spoke, with her face upturned to him, and the hot tears rolling
down her cheeks, her fingers convulsively clasped about his hand, and
her form bending closer and closer toward him, till her cheek was
resting on his bosom, Arthur shuddered with intensity of feeling, and
from his averted eyes the scalding drops, that had never once before
moistened their surface, betrayed how terribly he was shaken with
emotion.

But while she spoke, rapt as they were within themselves, they saw not
one who stood with folded arms beside the rustic bench, and gazed upon
them.

"As God is my hope," said Arthur, "I will disarm temptation. Fear not.
From this hour we part. Henceforth the living and the dead shall not be
more estranged than we."

He arose, but started as if an apparition met his gaze. Oriana knelt
beside him, and touched her lips to his hand in gratitude. An arm raised
her tenderly, and a gentle voice murmured her name.

It was not Arthur's.

Oriana raised her head, with a faint cry of terror. She gasped and
swooned upon the intruder's breast.

It was Harold Hare who held her in his arms.

Arthur, with folded arms, stood erect, but pale, in the presence of his
friend. His eye, sorrowful, yet calm, was fixed upon Harold, as if
awaiting his angry glance. But Harold looked only on the lifeless form
he held, and parting the tresses from her cold brow, his lips rested
there a moment with such a fond caress as sometimes a father gives his
child.

"Poor girl!" he murmured, "would that my sorrow could avail for both.
Arthur, I have heard enough to know you would not do me wrong. Grief is
in store for us, bu