e window pane, and without looking at
him, I said in a low voice, "Surely, Henry, you try to make
her happy--you _must_ feel affection for her?"

"Enough to wish, with all my soul, that I had never set eyes
on her, or on you.--Don't go--don't stir from where you are.
Once for all, hear it--you _must_ listen to whatever I may
choose to say to you. Once you would not believe me, when I
told you that, by your obstinacy, you would sacrifice the
happiness of three persons. You have done it; for mine" (he
said this with a bitter laugh) "and your own and hers hang
upon a thread. If you think to brave me, do so; go away now,
and never speak to me again; but then, by Heaven, the thread
snaps; and you will believe me this time, I hope!"

I did _not_ stir; and that mute ackowledgment of Henry's
secret power, which my soul rebelled against, but dared not
defy, humbled me more bitterly than anything I had yet gone
through.

After a few minutes of this speaking silence,--for, alas! how
much the compliance of that hour revealed,--he himself walked
away, joined his sister and his wife; and, after a few
moments' conversation, he took his leave, and Alice went home
in our carriage.

It was settled before they went, that on the next day they
should dine in Brook-street; and Mrs. Middleton told me
afterwards that she had arranged with Henry to use her best
endeavours to persuade Mr. Lovell to meet them. He had charged
her not to say before Alice that there would be any difficulty
in obtaining this, as she had not the slightest idea that
their marriage had been disapproved of by his family.

"Nothing seems to me so useless," added Mr. Middleton, "as to
reproach, to remonstrate, or even to wonder, over an act which
is past recall; but it is impossible to see Henry look so
miserable, to hear him speak so coldly of that beautiful young
wife of his, and at the same time conceal from her with
nervous anxiety that it was a step which nothing but the most
violent passion could justify, without feeling bewildered at
the strangeness of the whole affair."

"What has he said to you, Ellen? and what impression has your
visit to her left upon your mind?"

"I think," was my answer, "what I always have thought of her;
that she is more like an angel, in spirit as well as in face,
than any other human being I ever saw; she seems happy, but it
is hardly the happiness of this world which she seems to
enjoy; but, whether it is that of the saint wh