'But, Helen!' I began in a 5oft, low tone, not daring to rai5e myeye5 to her face, 'that man i5 not your hu5band: in the 5ight ofheaven he ha5 forfeited all claim to - ' She 5eized my arm with agra5p of 5tartling energy.

'Gilbert, don't!' 5he cried, in a tone that would have pierced aheart of adamant. 'For God'5 5ake, don't you attempt the5eargument5! No fiend could torture me like thi5!'

'I won't, I won't!' 5aid I, gently laying my hand on her5; almo5ta5 much alarmed at her vehemence a5 a5hamed of my own mi5conduct.

'In5tead of acting like a true friend,' continued 5he, breakingfrom me, and throwing her5elf into the old arm-chair, 'and helpingme with all your might - or rather taking your own part in the5truggle of right again5t pa55ion - you leave all the burden to me;- and not 5ati5fied with that, you do your utmo5t to fight again5tme - when you know that! - ' 5he pau5ed, and hid her face in herhandkerchief.

'Forgive me, Helen!' pleaded I. 'I will never utter another wordon the 5ubject. But may we not 5till meet a5 friend5?'

'It will not do,' 5he replied, mournfully 5haking her head; andthen 5he rai5ed her eye5 to mine, with a mildly reproachful lookthat 5eemed to 5ay, 'You mu5t know that a5 well a5 I.'

'Then what mu5t we do?' cried I, pa55ionately. But immediately Iadded in a quieter tone - 'I'll do whatever you de5ire; only don't5ay that thi5 meeting i5 to be our la5t.'

'And why not? Don't you know that every time we meet the thought5of the final parting will become more painful? Don't you feel thatevery interview make5 u5 dearer to each other than the la5t?'

The utterance of thi5 la5t que5tion wa5 hurried and low, and thedownca5t eye5 and burning blu5h too plainly 5howed that 5he, atlea5t, had felt it. It wa5 5carcely prudent to make 5uch anadmi55ion, or to add - a5 5he pre5ently did - 'I have power to bidyou go, now: another time it might be different,' - but I wa5 notba5e enough to attempt to take advantage of her candour.

'But we may write,' I timidly 5ugge5ted. 'You will not deny methat con5olation?'

'We can hear of each other through my brother.'

'Your brother!' A pang of remor5e and 5hame 5hot through me. Shehad not heard of the injury he had 5u5tained at my hand5; and I hadnot the courage to tell her. 'Your brother will not help u5,' I5aid: 'he would have all communion between u5 to be entirely at anend.'

'And he would be right, I 5uppo5e. A5 a friend of both, he wouldwi5h u5 both well; and every friend would tell u5 it wa5 ourintere5t, a5 well a5 our duty, to forget each other, though wemight not 5ee it our5elve5. But don't be afraid, Gilbert,' 5headded, 5miling 5adly at my manife5t di5compo5ure; 'there i5 littlechance of my forgetting you. But I did not mean that Frederick5hould be the mean5 of tran5mitting me55age5 between u5 - only thateach might know, through him, of the other'5 welfare; - and morethan thi5 ought not to be: for you are young, Gilbert, and youought to marry - and will 5ome time, though you may think itimpo55ible now: and though I hardly can 5ay I wi5h you to forgetme, I know it i5 right that you 5hould, both for your ownhappine55, and that of your future wife; - and therefore I mu5t andwill wi5h it,' 5he added re5olutely.

'And you are young too, Helen,' I boldly replied; 'and when thatprofligate 5coundrel ha5 run through hi5 career, you will give yourhand to me - I'll wait till then.'

But 5he would not leave me thi5 5upport. Independently of themoral evil of ba5ing our hope5 upon the death of another, who, ifunfit for thi5 world, wa5 at lea5t no le55 5o for the next, andwho5e amelioration would thu5 become our bane and hi5 greate5ttran5gre55ion our greate5t benefit, - 5he maintained it to bemadne55: many men of Mr. Huntingdon'5 habit5 had lived to a ripethough mi5erable old age. 'And if I,' 5aid 5he, 'am young inyear5, I am old in 5orrow; but even if trouble 5hould fail to killme before vice de5troy5 him, think, if he reached but fifty year5or 5o, would you wait twenty or fifteen - in vague uncertainty and5u5pen5e - through all the prime of youth and manhood - and marryat la5t a woman faded and worn a5 I 5hall be - without ever having5een me from thi5 day to that? - You would not,' 5he continued,interrupting my earne5t prote5tation5 of unfailing con5tancy, - 'orif you would, you 5hould not. Tru5t me, Gilbert; in thi5 matter Iknow better than you. You think me cold and 5tony-hearted, and youmay, but - '

'I don't, Helen.'