ion as
her loathing of the sin had grown, her anguish on account of it had
increased. It was a poison-tree which her tears watered and caused to
shoot forth yet deeper roots, yet wider branches, overspreading her life
with ever denser, more noxious shadows. Since, then, on earth the
purification of repentance does but deepen the soul's anguish over the
past, how should it be otherwise in heaven, all through eternity? The
pure in heart that see God, thought the unhappy girl, must only be those
that have always been so, for such as become pure by repentance and tears
do but see their impurity plainer every day.

Her horror of such a heaven, where through eternity perfect purification
should keep her shame undying, taught her unbelief, and turned her for
comfort to that other deep instinct of humanity, which sees in death the
promise of eternal sleep, rest, and oblivion. In these days she thought
much of poor George Bayley, and his talk in the prayer-meeting the night
before he killed himself. By the mystic kinship that had declared itself
between their sorrowful destinies, she felt a sense of nearness to him
greater than her new love had given or ever could give her toward Henry.
She recalled how she had sat listening to George's talk that evening,
pitifully, indeed, but only half comprehending what he meant, with no
dim, foreboding warning that she was fated to reproduce his experience so
closely. Yes, reproduce it, perhaps, God only knew, even to the end. She
could not bear this always. She understood now--ah! how well--his longing
for the river of Lethe whose waters give forgetfulness. She often saw his
pale face in dreams, wearing the smile he wore as he lay in the coffin, a
smile as if he had been washed in those waters he sighed for.

CHAPTER IX.

Henry had not referred to their marriage after the first interview. From
day to day, and week to week, he had put off doing so, hoping that she
might grow into a more serene condition of mind. But in this respect the
result had sadly failed to answer his expectation. He could not deny to
himself that, instead of becoming more cheerful, she was relapsing into a
more and more settled melancholy. From day to day he noted the change,
like that of a gradual petrifaction, which went on in her face. It was as
if before his eyes she were sinking into a fatal stupor, from which all
his efforts could not rouse her.

There were moments when he experienced the chilling prem