horrible things.

"Helen," he said, at last, "your words have a dark meaning! your
language is strange for a wife, who has been so loved and trusted, to
use!"

"There is the sting, Walter. I have been loved and trusted without
deserving it; and what breaks down my proud nature most of all, is, to
think that Heaven, who knows all my guilt, still bears with me," she
said, while every feature worked with the agony this trial was causing
her.

"You will set me mad, woman! Let me hear what this guilt is, of which
you so often accuse yourself. By Heavens! all the wealth of India
shall never cloak dishonor! I will tear it away, and throw it--with
one who has dared to bring a stain on my name--off, as I would a soiled
garment. Do you understand me?" he said, in a fury.

Helen started up, the red blood rushing in crimson tides to her cheeks
and bosom, dyeing her arms down to the very tips of her fingers, at the
imputation. "It is not _that_, Walter, thank God!" she said, in a
firmer voice. "But there is no true repentance without restitution.
In a few moments you shall know _all_ my sin." She went into her
dressing-closet; when she came back, she held a small package in her
hand, which she laid on May's knee. "Take it, May--it is yours. I
stole it from the closet the night Uncle Stillinghast was dying, while
you slept."

"Helen, what is it?" said May, almost overcome, while she took the
package up, and looked at it.

"It is the _lost will_, May, which it was supposed you had burnt.
_This_ is my guilt, Walter," she said, turning to her husband; "this is
the barrier which has lifted itself, like a wall of lead, between my
soul and heaven. Now spurn me, my husband--despise me, May; then,
perhaps, loaded with disgrace, and forsaken and desolate, my Father in
heaven may receive me once more."

"Base woman!" exclaimed her husband, turning from her.

"Sir," said May, grasping his hand; "Helen, whatever her faults may
have been, is worthy of you now. As to the will, except certain
bequests, legacies, and annuities to the poor, over which I have no
control, I want none of it. Only promise to deal kindly with her in
this her hour of genuine humility and repentance. But, see--she is
falling."

"Unworthy, dishonorable Helen, how dare you wed me with this wicked act
on your conscience?" said the outraged man, looking coldly down on the
pale and prostrate form at his feet. "I will leave her with you, May."

"Where