iture of your love in order that truth might be unsullied.
How can I confide in one who values the esteem of man more than
the approval of her own conscience? You have said her love was a
palliation. No, you are wrong; it is an aggravation of her fault. She
should have loved me too well to suffer me to discover by chance
what should have been disclosed in confidence. Mary, her love is not
greater than mine. None know how I have cherished her memory--how I
have kept her loved image in my heart during our long separation. I
would give every earthly joy or possession to retain her affection,
for it is dearer to me than everything beside, save truth, candor, and
honesty. I have nothing to conceal from her; I would willingly bare
my secret soul to her scrutiny. There is nothing I should wish to keep
back, unless it be the pain of this hour."

He paused by her side, and looked tenderly on the pale, yet lovely
face of Florence.

"Mr. Stewart, shall one fault forever destroy your confidence in
Florry, when she has declared that had she thought it incumbent on her
to speak of these things--if she had felt as you do, she asserts that
nothing could have prevented her revealing every circumstance."

"Mary, I fear her code of morality is somewhat too lax; and the fact
that she acknowledges no fault is far more painful than any other
circumstance."

"Mary, I have omitted one thing which I wish him to know. I neglected
to inform you, that the priest to whom I confessed is my half-brother!
I have now told you all; and thinking as you do, it is better that in
future we forget the past and be as strangers to each other. That I
have loved you fervently, I can never forget--neither your assertion
that I am unworthy of your confidence."

She disengaged her dress from Mary's clasp, and turned toward the
door. Mr. Stewart caught her hand, and firmly held it. She struggled
not to release herself, but lifted her dark eyes to his, and calmly
met his earnest glance.

"Florence!"

There was a mournful tenderness in the deep tone. Her lip quivered,
still her eyes fell not beneath his, piercing as an eagle's.

"Mr Stewart, you have wronged her; you have been too severe." And Mary
clasped his hand tightly, and looked up appealingly. He withdrew his
hand.

"Florence, this is a bitter, bitter hour to me. Yet I may have judged
too harshly: we will forget the past, and, in future, let no such
cloud come between us."

"Not so, Mr. Stewart: i