"no! I will not retract, I can now adopt your own words and say, 'I had set my all upon a cast, and I will stand the hazard of the die.' I had long deemed you the possessor of the noblest qualities, of a high and virtuous, though an impetuous mind; but in discerning the falsity of my valuation, in learning that he whom I had almost elevated into a divinity is but-" she paused, and then added, "an erring man, I have lost the sole delusion that rendered existence desirable to me. You have embittered even the memory of the past; I can no longer say 'To-morrow do thy worst, for I have lived to-day. I possess not even that support, for I feel that there was no reality in my imaginings, and that I have been the shallow victim of my own self-deception.

Without a hope, without a fear,

why should I retract? I will not prove apostate to the ardent wish of years; and here I now stand, not in the weakness of abject affection, but in the strength of despair, prepared to die—your wife!" and she held forth her hand. I seized it, and pressing it in triumph to my lips, led her to the altar.

The ceremony was concluded. During its celebration she evinced no further emotion, but unresistingly allowed herself to be directed through its various forms in apparent unconsciousness, if not in real apathy.

We emerged from this oppressive and fetid scene of darkness and vapour into the pure air, light, and fragrance of Heaven. The contrast was quite overwhelming; during a few moments my sister and I remained confounded beneath its dazzling influence. But cold, pale, rigid,

and impassive, my unhappy bride exhibited no more consciousness of external impressions than the statue she resembled.

I suggested that we should walk to our home; she assented with the docility of infantine dependence. In the abstraction of her grief, in the utter prostration of her broken spirit, she seemed no longer to possess a will of her own, but to depend for her impulses on the agency of others. I placed her arm on mine, she allowed me to caress it; I advanced, she yielded to the movement, and submissively followed. I grasped her hand, she returned the pressure; I approached my lips to her face, and with unconscious deference she turned her pale cheek to receive the kiss I bestowed. Not when she lay before me in suspended animation was she less the

Q*

mistress of her reason than at this moment. As I contemplated this perfect personification of loveliness congealed by sorrow into a mere mockery of reason, my demoniac resolution began to fail me; but the rejection—the accursed rejection recurred to my mind. Beneath its blighting influence, like the Pharaoh of old, again my heart was hardened, and I swore that she should drain the cup of retribution, even to the dregs.

During these reflections we had reached the summit of the hill we had been ascending. A portion of the wood close to, and immediately before us, had recently been felled, and in the space thus opened appeared a handsome marble structure. The eyes of my sister expressed undisguised surprise and uneasiness, but the countenance of my bride still retained

its painful rigidity. We advanced still nearer, and an inscription then became visible, to which in stern silence I motioned the attention of my wife. Aroused by my action, by the singularity of the scene, perhaps by a prophetic apprehension, with a faltering step, and a cheek alarmed into life, as though under the influence of some infernal fascination, she slowly obeyed the lingering motion of my finger, and tracked it until she reached the tomb and read,

ERECTED IN ETERNAL RECORD OF THE

CRIME, ON THE SCENE OF ITS PERPETRATION, TO THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD; BY HIM WHO COMMITTED THE MURDER, AND

THEN MARRIED THE SISTER OF THE MUR

DERED.