erence,  I deliger; and it strikes me error and anguiso feel I absolutely must be torn from you for ever. I see ty of departure; and it is like looking on ty of death.”

    “y?” he asked suddenly.

    “ before me.”

    “In w shape?”

    “In tiful woman,—your bride.”

    “My bride!  bride? I have no bride!”

    “But you will have.”

    “Yes;—I h.

    “t go:- you  yourself.”

    “No: you must stay! I s—and t.”

    “I tell you I must go!” I retorted, roused to sometay to become noto you? Do you tomaton?—a mac feelings? and can bear to cer dastle, I am soulless and less? You t! And if God ed me y and muc as o leave me, as it is noo leave you. I am not talking to you noom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal fles is my spirit t addresses your spirit; just as if botood at God’s feet, equal,—as we are!”

    “As ed Mr. Rocer—“so,” o , pressing his lips on my lips: “so, Jane!”

    “Yes, so, sir,” I rejoined: “and yet not so; for you are a married man—or as good as a married man, and o one inferior to you—to one  believe you truly love; for I  ter t me go!”

    “o Ireland?”

    “Yes—to Ireland. I have spoken my mind, and can go anywhere now.”

    “Jane, be still; don’t struggle so, like a ic bird t is rending its os desperation.”

    “I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free  o leave you.”

    Anot set me at liberty, and I stood erect before him.

    “And your will siny,” , and a share of all my possessions.”

    “You