morrow may be too late." She began to walk towards the
house as she spoke, rapidly and irregularly, her heart beating fast, but
no trace of weakness in her limbs; and Herbert Laurence followed her, he
scarcely knew why, expecting that she had desired it.

Into Molton Grange she went, up the broad staircase and to her chamber
door before she paused to see if he was following. When she did so she
found that he stood just behind her on the wide landing.

"You can enter," she said, throwing open the door of her bedroom, "don't
be afraid; there is nothing here except the cause for which I parted
with you." In her agitation and excitement, scarcely pausing to fasten
the door behind her, Mrs. Damer fell down on her knees before the little
black box with its iron clamps and ponderous padlock; and drawing a key
from her bosom, applied it to the lock, and in another minute had thrown
back the heavy lid. Having displaced some linen which lay at the top,
she carefully removed some lighter materials, and then calling to the
man behind her, bid him look in and be satisfied. Mr. Laurence advanced
to the box, quite ignorant as to the reason of her demand; but as his
eye fell upon its contents, he started backwards and covered his face
with his hands. As he drew them slowly away again he met the sad,
earnest look with which the kneeling woman greeted him, and for a few
moments they gazed at one another in complete silence. Then Mrs. Damer
withdrew her eyes from his and rearranged the contents of the black box;
the heavy lid shut with a clang, the padlock was fast again, the key in
her bosom, and she rose to her feet and prepared to leave the room in
the same unbroken silence. But he again detained her, and this time his
voice was hoarse and changed.

"Blanche! tell me, is this the truth?"

"As I believe in heaven," she answered.

"And this was the reason that we parted--this the sole cause of our
estrangement?"

"Was it not enough?" she said. "I erred, but it was as one in a dream.
When I awoke I could no longer err and be at peace. At peace did I say?
I have known no peace since I knew you; but I should have died and waked
up in hell, if I had not parted with you. This is all the truth, believe
it or not as you will; but there may, there can be nothing in future
between you and me. Pray let me pass you."

"But that--that--box, Blanche!" exclaimed Herbert Laurence, with drops
of sweat, notwithstanding the temperature of the day,