shrunk from my very touch with horror.

"Good heavens, Bianca," exclaimed I, "what is the meaning of this? Is
this my reception after so long an absence? Is this the love you
professed for me?"

At the mention of love, a shuddering ran through her. She turned to me
a face wild with anguish. "No more of that! no more of that!" gasped
she--"talk not to me of love--I--I--am married!"

I reeled as if I had received a mortal blow. A sickness struck to my
very heart. I caught at a window frame for support. For a moment or
two, everything was chaos around me. When I recovered, I beheld Bianca
lying on a sofa; her face buried in a pillow, and sobbing convulsively.
Indignation at her fickleness for a moment overpowered every other
feeling.

"Faithless--perjured--" cried I, striding across the room. But another
glance at that beautiful being in distress, checked all my wrath. Anger
could not dwell together with her idea in my soul.

"Oh, Bianca," exclaimed I, in anguish, "could I have dreamt of this;
could I have suspected you would have been false to me?"

She raised her face all streaming with tears, all disordered with
emotion, and gave me one appealing look--"False to you!--they told me
you were dead!"

"What," said I, "in spite of our constant correspondence?"