at this meeting was our last. That he no
longer looked upon me as his wife; that he had loved me faithfully, and
I had dishonoured him; and he had taken his passage for America, and
would leave England for ever the next morning.'

"He was true to his word. He left me, with hatred in his heart and scorn
upon his lips, and I have never heard from him or seen him since.

"Mr. Carlos and I rejoiced at his departure, for he was the only person
from whose anger we had anything to dread. My poor mistress suffered in
silence. She never made her wrongs known to her own family or to the
world.

"Mr. Carlos hired lodgings for me in London, where I lived until his
wife died, which event took place a few weeks after I quitted the house.
Her death, for awhile, greatly affected the Squire, and for several
months he appeared restless and unhappy. Once he said to me very
sorrowfully,--it was a few days after her funeral,--'Annie, my wife was
an angel. My love for you broke her heart. With her last breath she
forgave me, and begged me to be kind to you and the child. I was not
worthy of her. I wish from my very soul that I had never seen you.'

"These words made me very unhappy, for I adored Mr. Carlos, and dreaded
the least diminution of his regard; and I could not help feeling deep
remorse for the share I had had in the untimely death of my beautiful
young mistress. I grew sad and melancholy, and Mr. Carlos, who really
loved me and my child better than anything in the world, and would have
married me had my husband's death rendered that event possible, brought
me down to F----, and established me at the porter's lodge, where he
could see and converse with me every day. It was well known in the
neighbourhood on what footing I stood with the Squire, though you, my
poor boy, never suspected the fact. You may now perceive, Noah, how
great has been our loss in Mr. Carlos. I have lost a kind friend and
protector, a husband in everything but the name, and you an affectionate
friend and father. Do not urge me to leave this place. When I die I wish
my bones to lie in the same churchyard with his, although his rank
hinders me from sharing his grave."

My mother ceased speaking, and sat with her hands folded complacently in
her lap, and I glared upon her for some time in gloomy silence. She
appeared tranquil, scarcely conscious of the crimes she had committed.
Was she not as much a murderess as I was a murderer, with only this
difference, th