l. I have been a
madman, a monster,--you know I have,--worthy of eternal detestation. But
you have not suffered alone. Remorse--unquenchable fire;
remorse--undying worm, avenges every pang I have inflicted on you.
Remorse goaded me to desperation,--desperation prompted the expiatory
vow. It must be fulfilled, or I shall forfeit my self-respect, my honor,
and truth. But I shall be better, stronger,--I feel I shall, after
passing this stern ordeal. It will soon be over, and I have a confidence
so firm that it has the strength of conviction, that in this lonely
conflict with the powers of darkness I shall come off conqueror, through
God's assisting angels."

He spoke with fervor, and his countenance lighted up with enthusiasm.
Bodily weakness and languor had disappeared, and his transparent cheek
glowed with the excitement of his feelings.

"If you are really thus supported by divine enthusiasm," I said, with an
involuntary kindling of admiration, "perhaps I ought to submit in
silence, where I cannot understand. Forgive me before I leave you,
Ernest, this rash intrusion. We may forgive even our enemies."

"Forgive, Gabriella! Oh! if you knew the flood of joy and rapture that
for one moment deluged my soul! I dare not recall it. Forgive, O my
God!"

He turned away, covered his face with his left hand, and made a
repelling gesture with the other. I understood the motion, and obeyed
it.

"Farewell, Ernest," said I, slowly retreating; "may angels minister to
you and bear up your spirit on their wings of love!"

I looked back, on the threshold, and met his glance then turned towards
me. Had I been one of the angels I invoked, it could not have been more
adoring.

And thus we parted; and when I attempted to describe the interview to
his mother, I wept and sobbed as if I had been paying a visit to his
grave. And yet I was glad that I had been, glad that I had bridged the
gulf that separated us, though but momentarily.

Perhaps some may smile at this record. I have no doubt they will, and
pronounce the character of Ernest unnatural and _impossible_. But in all
his idiosyncrasy, he is the Ernest Linwood of Grandison Place, just such
as I have delineated him, just such as I knew and loved. I know that
there are scenes that have seemed, that will seem, overwrought, and I
have often been tempted to throw down the pen, regretting the task I
have undertaken. But, were we permitted to steal behind the scenes of
many a life dra