ing the effect. But it must be made;
and he at length rejoins, appealingly:

"Helen! I hope you won't be aggrieved, or blame me for hat I am going
to do."

"What?"

"Leave you."

"Leave me!" she exclaims, her eyes interrogating his in wild
bewilderment.

"Only for a time, love; a very short while."

"But why any time? Charles; you are surely jesting with me?"

"No, indeed. I am in earnest. Never more in my life, and never more
wishing I were not. Alas! it is inevitable!"

"Inevitable! I do not understand. What do you mean?"

With her eyes fixed oh his, in earnest gaze, she anxiously awaits his
answer.

"Helen Armstrong!" he says, speaking in a tone of solemnity that sounds
strange, almost harsh despite its gentleness; "you are to me the dearest
thing on earth. I need not tell you that, for surely you know it.
Without you I should not value life, nor care to live one hour longer.
To say I love you, with all my heart and soul, were but to repeat the
assurance I've already given you. Ah! now more than ever, if that were
possible; now that I know how true you've been, and what you've suffered
for my sake. But there's another--one far away from here, who claims a
share of my affections--"

She makes a movement interrupting him, her eyes kindling up with an
indescribable light, her bosom rising and falling as though stirred by
some terrible emotion.

Perceiving her agitation, though without suspecting its cause, he
continues:

"If this night more than ever I love you, this night greater than ever
is my affection for her. The sight of that man, with the thought I've
again permitted him to escape, is fresh cause of reproach--a new cry
from the ground, commanding me to avenge my murdered mother."

Helen Armstrong, relieved, again breathes freely. Strange, but natural;
in consonance with human passions. For it was jealousy that for the
moment held sway in her thoughts. Ashamed of the suspicion, now known
to be unworthy, she makes an effort to conceal it, saying in calm tone--

"We have heard of your mother's death."

"Of her murder," says Clancy, sternly, and through set teeth. "Yes; my
poor mother was murdered by the man who has just gone off. He won't go
far, before I overtake him. I've sworn over her grave, she shall be
avenged; his blood will atone for her's. I've tracked him here, shall
track him on; never stop, till I stand over him, as he once stood over
me, thinking--. But I won't