now rattling, shrill, and startling, then roaring,
swelling, and subsiding again, like the distant surf; but around us,
there was silence and space. In the brief moment that we stood face to
face, my mind was at work with preternatural activity. I remembered that
I had a set of diamonds,--the bridal gift of Mrs. Linwood,--a superb and
costly set, which I had left a week previous in the hands of the
jeweller, that he might remedy a slight defect in the clasps. Those
which I wore at the theatre, and which had attracted his insatiate eye,
were the gift of Ernest. He had clasped them around my neck and arms, as
he was about to lead me to the altar, and hallowed the offering with a
bridegroom's kiss. I could have given my heart's blood sooner than the
radiant pledge of wedded faith and love.

I could go to the jewellers,--get possession of the diamonds, and thus
redeem my guilty parent from impending ruin. Then, the waves of the
Atlantic would roll between us, and I would be spared the humiliation
and agony of another scene like this. I told him to follow me at a short
distance; that I would get the jewels; that he could receive them from
me in the street in the midst of the jostling crowd without observation.

"It is the last time," I cried, "the last time I ever act without my
husband's knowledge. I have obeyed my mother, I have fulfilled my duty,
at the risk of all my soul holds dear. And now, as you hope to meet
hereafter her, who, if angels can sorrow, still mourns over your
transgressions, quit the dark path you are now treading, and devote your
future life to penitence and prayer. Oh! by my mother's wrongs and woes,
and by my own, by the mighty power of God and a Saviour's dying love, I
entreat you to repent, forsake your sins, and live, live, forever more."

Tears gushed from my eyes and checked my utterance. Oh! how sad, how
dreadful, to address a father thus.

"Gabriella!" he exclaimed, "you are an angel. Pray for me, pray for me,
thou pure and holy being, and forgive the sins that you say are not
beyond the reach of God's mercy, I dare not, not here,--yet for one dear
embrace, my child, I would willingly meet the tortures of the
prison-house and the scaffold."

I recoiled with horror at the suggestion. I would not have had his arms
around me for worlds. I could not call him _father_. I pitied,--wept for
him; but I shrunk with loathing from his presence. Dropping my veil over
my face, I turned hastily, gained