ertainly,--that is, I think, I hope so." A glance that flashed on me
from the doorway arrested my stammering tongue. Ernest was standing
there, observing the interview, and the dark passion of which his mother
had warned me clouded his brow. Snatching my hand from Richard, I bade
him a hasty good-night, and ascended the stairs, with a prophetic heart.

Yet, while I felt the shadow on his brow stealing darkly over me, I
repeated to myself,--

"The keenest pangs the wretched find,
Are rapture to the dreary void,
The leafless desert of the mind,
The waste of feelings unemployed."

CHAPTER XXIX.

The interview with Richard Clyde the next day, was a painfully agitating
one. I had no conception till then, how closely and strongly love and
hope had twined their fibres round him; or how hard would be the task of
rending them from him. Why could I not appreciate the value of his
frank, noble, and confiding nature? It may be because we had been
children together, and that familiarity was unfavorable to the growth of
love in one of my poetic nature. I _must_ look up. The cloud crowned
cliff did not appall my high-reaching eye.

"I shall not see you again, Gabriella," said he, as he wrung my hand in
parting. "I shall not see you again before my departure,--I would not
for worlds renew the anguish of this moment. I do not reproach you,--you
have never deceived me. My own hopes have been building a bridge of
flowers over a dark abyss. But, by the Heaven that hears me, Gabriella,
the keenest pang I now experience is not for my own loss, it is the
dread I feel for you."

"Not one word more, Richard, if you love me. I have been tender of your
feelings,--respect mine. There is but one thing on earth I prize more
than your friendship. Let me cherish that for the sacred memory of _auld
lang syne_."

"Farewell, then, Gabriella, best and only beloved! May the hand wither
that ever falls too heavily on that trusting heart, should we never meet
again!"

He drew me suddenly closely to him, kissed me passionately, and was
gone.

"Had you confided in me fully," said Mrs. Linwood, in speaking to me
afterwards of Richard, "I should never have advised a correspondence
which must have strengthened his attachment. Having the highest opinion
of his principles and disposition, and believing you regarded him with
modest affection, I urged this intercourse as a binding link between
you. You must have perceived my w