the whole dreadful truth. I would not have insulted you to-night with my
presence, or wounded your peace with a recapitulation of my wrongs, but
I could no longer live and bear the imputation of such guilt. When you
have heard my sad story, you will, I am sure, not only pity, but forgive
me."

With feelings of unalloyed indignation, Algernon listened to the
iniquitous manner in which Elinor had been deceived and betrayed, and
when she concluded her sad relation, he fiercely declared that he would
return to the sick man's chamber--reproach him with his crimes, and
revoke his forgiveness.

"Leave the sinner to his God!" exclaimed the terrified Elinor, placing
herself before the door. "For my sake--for your own sake, pity and
forgive him. Remember that, monster though he be, he is my husband and
your brother, the father of the unfortunate child whose birth I
anticipate with such sad forebodings."

"Before that period arrives," said Algernon, with deep commiseration.
"Mark will have paid the forfeit of his crimes, and your child will be
the heir of immense wealth."

"You believe him to be a dying man," said Elinor. "He will live. A
change has come over him for the better; the surgeon, this morning, gave
strong hopes of his recovery. Sinner that I am, if he could but have
looked into my heart he would have been shocked at the pain that this
communication conveyed. Algernon, I wished his death. God has reversed
the awful sentence; it is the mother, not the father of the unhappy
infant, that will be called hence. Heaven knows that I am weary of
life--that I would willingly die, could I but take the poor babe with