Some time in ternoon I raised my ern sun gilding ts decline on t am I to do?”

    But t once”—, so dread, t I stopped my ears. I said I could not bear suc I am not Ed part of my  I  of most glorious dreams, and found ter; but t I must leave antly, entirely, is intolerable. I cannot do it.”

    But, t I could do it and foretold t I s. I led ion: I ed to be  I mig for me; and Conscience, turned tyrant, , told auntingly, s but dipped y foot in t  arm of iron  o unsounded depths of agony.

    “Let me be torn a another help me!”

    “No; you sear yourself a to transfix it.”

    I rose up suddenly, terror-struck at tude  tood erect. I perceived t I ement and inanition; neit nor drink  day, for I aken no breakfast. And, range pang, I noed t, long as I  up  to ask o invite me to come do even little Adèle apped at t even Mrs. Fairfax  me. “Friends al tune forsakes,” I murmured, as I undre and passed out. I stumbled over an obstacle: my ill dizzy, my sig soon recover myself. I fell, but not on to tstretc me. I looked up—I ed by Mr. Rocer, w in a chreshold.

    “You come out at last,” ing for you long, and listening: yet not one movement es more of t deat yourself up and grieve alone! I e. I expected a scene of some kind. I  rain of tears; only I ed to be s: no at all! I see a race of tears. I suppose, t has been weeping blood?”

    “ell, Jane! not a er—not? Noto cut a feeling or sting a passion? You sit quietly wh a weary, passive look.”

    “Jane, I never m