ice! I could not trust
myself to speak again. A stern sense of duty toward Julia kept me
silent; and we moved on, though very slowly and lingeringly.

"You love her very much?" said the quiet voice at my side, not much
louder than the voice of conscience, which was speaking imperiously just
then.

"I esteem her more highly than any other woman, except my mother," I
said. "I believe she would die sooner than do any thing she considered
wrong. I do not deserve her, and she loves me, I am sure, very truly and
faithfully."

"Do you think she will like me?" asked Olivia, anxiously.

"No; she must love you," I said, with warmth; "and I, too, can be a more
useful friend to you after my marriage than I am now. Perhaps then you
will feel free to place perfect confidence in us."

She smiled faintly, without speaking--a smile which said plainly she
could keep her own secret closely. It provoked me to do a thing I had
had no intention of doing, and which I regretted very much afterward. I
opened my pocket-book, and drew out the little slip of paper containing
the advertisement.

"Read that," I said.

But I do not think she saw more than the first line, for her face went
deadly white, and her eyes turned upon me with a wild, beseeching
look--as Tardif described it, the look of a creature hunted and
terrified. I thought she would have fallen, and I put my arm round her.
She fastened both her hands about mine, and her lips moved, though I
could not catch a word she was saying.

"Olivia!" I cried, "Olivia! do you suppose I could do any thing to hurt
you? Do not be so frightened! Why, I am your friend truly. I wish to
Heaven I had not shown you the thing. Have more faith in me, and more
courage."

"But they will find me, and force me away from here," she muttered.

"No," I said; "that advertisement was printed in the _Times_ directly
after your flight last October. They have not found you out yet; and the
longer you are hidden, the less likely they are to find you. Good
Heavens! what a fool I was to show it to you!"

"Never mind," she answered, recovering herself a little, but still
clinging to my arm; "I was only frightened for the time. You would not
give me up to them if you knew all."

"Give you up to them!" I repeated, bitterly. "Am I a Judas?"

But she could not talk to me any more. She was trembling like an
aspen-leaf, and her breath came sobbingly. All I could do was to take
her home, blaming myself for my curse