ile came upon her lips, and
she went to him again.

"I know," she said tenderly. "They have told me all that. You have
been ill and delirious. Well, who should be your nurse and comforter?
Malcolm--come to me again. My father will listen to my prayers, and all
the past shall be forgotten. Take me with you away somewhere till you
are well again. Only tell me now that you have forgiven me--that I am
to be your wife, Malcolm--my own."

A spasm of horror convulsed his face again, and he shrank from her when
she would have once more laid her head upon his breast.

"No; you do not know; you cannot know," he whispered hoarsely. "Myra,
there is a gulf between us that can never more be crossed. Go, dearest,
for Heaven's sake, and try and forget that I ever said words of love."

She looked at him in wonder more than dread, but the prime object of her
mission came now to mind.

"No," she said; "your mind is disordered with grief. I cannot leave you
like this. Tell me, I beg, Malcolm: you do repel me because of my
past?"

"No--no!" he said wildly. "For that? Great Heavens, no!"

"Then you must--you shall tell me."

"Tell you?" he cried.

"Yes: what you have kept back from your firmest friend. It must be some
terrible trouble--some great agony of spirit--that should induce you to
raise your hand against your own life."

"They told you that!" he said bitterly.

"Yes: they were obliged. But the reason, dear? Did you not tell me I
should share your very being--that I should be your other self?
Malcolm, tell me. I claim it as my right. Why are you like this?"

He caught her hands fiercely, and held her at arm's length.

"Tell you?" he said; "that you may loathe as well as hate. Myra, in the
horror of the long black nights since I saw you last I have clung to the
hope that, some time in the future, repentance, sorrow for what was
thrust upon me, might be sufficient penance for the past; but it is all
one black cloud of despair before me. There is no hope. You and I must
never meet again. Go, while I can speak to you the words of a sane man,
before that which they have thought of me becomes true. For Heaven's
sake, go. God have mercy; my punishment is greater than I can bear."

He reeled, and would have fallen heavily, but Myra held on to the hands
which clutched hers so fiercely; and, as a wild appeal for help escaped
her lips, she saved him from striking his head violently as he sank
insensible to