he will adore me for it, she will be my true and tender friend
till death. She will weep upon my neck and bless me."

"Ay," whispered jealousy, "and then she will marry Henry Little."

"And am I sure to succeed if I persist in crime? Deserve her hatred and
contempt, and is it certain they will not both fall on me?"

"The fault began with them. He supplanted me--she jilted me. I hate
him--I love her. I can't give her up now; I have gone too far. What is
intercepting a letter? I have been too near murder to stop at that."

"But her pale face! her pale face!"

"Once married, supplant him as he has supplanted you. Away to Italy with
her. Fresh scenes--constant love--the joys of wedlock! What will this
Henry Little be to her then?--a dream."

"Eternal punishment; if it is not a fable, who has ever earned it better
than I am earning it if I go on?"

"It IS a fable; it must be. Philosophers always said so, and now even
divines have given it up."

"Her pale face! her pale face! Never mind HIM, look at her. What sort of
love is this that shows no pity? Oh, my poor girl, don't look so sad--so
pale! What shall I do? Would to God I had never been born, to torture
myself and her!"

His good angel fought hard for him that day; fought and struggled
and hoped, until the miserable man, torn this way and that, ended the
struggle with a blasphemous yell by tearing the letter to atoms.

That fatal act turned the scale.

The next moment he wished he had not done it.

But it was too late. He could not go to her with the fragments. She
would see he had intercepted it purposely.

Well, all the better. It was decided. He would not look at her face any
more. He could not bear it.

He rushed away from the bower and made for the seaside; but he soon
returned another way, gained his own room, and there burnt the fragments
of the letter to ashes.

But, though he was impenitent, remorse was not subdued. He could not
look Grace Carden in the face now. So he sent word he must go back to
Hillsborough directly.

He packed his bag and went down-stairs with it.

On the last landing he met Grace Carden. She started a little.

"What! going away?"

"Yes, Miss Carden."

"No bad news, I hope?" said she, kindly.

The kindly tone coming from her, to whom he had shown no mercy, went
through that obdurate heart.

"No--no," he faltered; "but the sight of your unhappiness--Let me go. I
am a miserable man!"

And with this he actually burs