be your wife; to know that my guilty love--for I loved her, Harold,
and it _was_ guilt to love--to know that it left no poison behind, that
its shadow has passed away from the path that you must tread."

"Speak not of guilt, my friend. There could live no crime between two
such noble hearts. And had I thought you would have accepted the
sacrifice, I could almost have been happy to have given her to you, so
much was her happiness the aim of my own love."

"Yes, for you have a glorious heart, Harold; and I thank Heaven that she
cannot fail to love you. And you do not think, do you, Harold, that it
would be wrong for you two to speak of me when I am gone? I cannot bear
to think that you should deem it necessary to drive me from your
memories, as one who had stepped in between your hearts. I am sure she
will love you none the less for her remembrance of me, and therefore
sometimes you will talk together of me, will you not?"

"Yes, we will often talk of you, for what dearer theme to both could we
choose; what purer recollections could our memories cherish than of the
friend we both loved so much, and who so well deserved our love?"

"And I am forgiven, Harold?"

"Were there aught to be forgiven, I would forgive; but I have never
harbored in my most secret heart one trace of anger or resentment toward
you. Do not talk more, dear Arthur. To-morrow, perhaps, you will be
stronger, and then we will speak again. Here comes your mother, and she
will scold me for letting you fatigue yourself so much."

"Raise me a little on the pillow, please. I seem to breathe more heavily
to-night. Thank you, I will sleep now. Good night, mother; I will eat
the gruel when I wake. I had rather sleep now. Good night, Harold!"

He fell into a slumber almost immediately, and they would not disturb
him, although his mother had prepared the food he had been used to
take.

"I think he is better to-night. He seems to sleep more tranquilly," said
Mrs. Wayne. "If you will step below, I have got a dish of tea for you,
and some little supper."

Harold went down and refreshed himself at the widow's neat and
hospitable board, and then walked out into the evening, to dissipate, if
possible, the cloud that was lowering about his heart. He paced up and
down the avenue of willows, and though the fresh night air soothed the
fever of his brain, he could not chase away the gloom that weighed upon
his spirit. His mind wandered among mournful memories--the fi