dful moments in my life, all
turning upon the one event that put the stamp upon it, that I
will not vainly endeavour to describe the misery of each; but
this was one of the worst. I knew not what to think--what to
suspect. Was it indeed some one else, and not Edward Middleton
or Henry Lovell, who had seen the share I had had in Julia's
death? But no, it could not be. No servant of the house was at
hand, no visitor could have been there, for it had been
difficult in the extreme, at the fatal moment, to procure any
help; and every person in the house had accounted for their
absence in some way or other. Why, too, should they have been
silent till now? And this paper, these words, there was no
demand, no extortion in them--a simple intimation.

I remained frightened, bewildered, and wholly unable to rally
against this new source of anxiety. I kept my bed for two
days, confined there by a feverish attack. On the third the
doctor pronounced me better, and able to go into the
drawing-room. As I was lying there on the sofa, my aunt, who
was sitting by me, nursing me as usual with the tenderest
solicitude, said, "I have just received a note from Edward,
which takes me quite by surprise. You know he left us on the
day after the one upon which you were taken ill, to go for a
week or two to London, and now he writes me word that he is
going abroad for a year, and that he will not be able to
return to Elmsley to take leave of us. Such a flighty
proceeding would be very like you, Henry, but I do not
understand it in Edward."

Gone, and for a year! the day after I was taken ill, too!
Quick as lightning a sudden thought Hashed across my mind. I
drew a deep breath, but forced myself to say, "Had he told you
of this plan, Henry?"

"I have had a letter from him also," was his answer; "and I
thought he looked graver than usual."

Later in the afternoon, when we were left alone, became and
sat down by me, and drawing a letter from his pocket, he said,
"Ellen, I wish you to read this letter, and to tell me frankly
what you think of it--I own I do not understand it. He alludes
to some secret, to some sorrow, it would almost seem, that he
cannot disclose, and that has rendered Elmsley unpleasant to
him. There is but one conjecture that I could make; but as
nothing in his manner or in his way of going on corroborates
it, I cannot seriously entertain it, and that is, that he is
in love with you; but you will judge for yourself." Edward