night. Almost unconsciously she had reached some distance from the
house, and now stood beside a beautiful statue of a-water-nymph,
overlooking a deep still pool, so clear and limpid, that when the moon
cast her light upon it, it shone like a sheet of silver, reflecting
every surrounding object. There were many paths that led to it,
concealed one from the other by gigantic trees and overhanging shrubs.
It was a favorite spot with. Marie, and she now stood leaning against
the statue, quite unconscious that tears were falling faster and
faster from her eyes, and mingling with the waters at her feet.

"Marie!" exclaimed the voice of Stanley at that moment: "Canst thou be
Marie? so false, so--" but his words were checked, for the terror, the
tumult of feeling, while it impelled her to start from him, deprived
her of all power; and a rapid movement on his part alone prevented her
from falling in the deep pool beneath their feet. It was but a moment:
she withdrew herself from his supporting arms, and stood erect before
him, though words she had none.

"Speak to me!" reiterated Arthur, his voice sounding hollow and
changed; "I ask but one word. My very senses seem to play me false,
and mock me with thy outward semblance to one I have so loved. Her
name, too, was Marie; her voice soft and thrilling as thine own:
and yet, yet, I feel that 'tis but semblance--'tis but mockery--the
phantasy of a disordered brain. Speak, in mercy! Say that it is but
semblance--that thou art not the Marie I have so loved."

"It is true--I am that Marie. I have wronged thee most cruelly, most
falsely," she answered, in a tone low and collected indeed, but
expressive of intense suffering. "It is too late now, either to atone
or to explain. Leave me, Senor Stanley: I am another's!"