forewarning of danger in the presence of an ordinary enemy,
was a hope destroyed for ever. There was one more effort I could make,
and I made it. I went next to the man whom I am to marry.
I implored him to release me from my promise. He refused.
I declared I would break my engagement. He showed me letters
from his sisters, letters from his brothers, and his dear friends--
all entreating him to think again before he made me his wife;
all repeating reports of me in Paris, Vienna, and London,
which are so many vile lies. "If you refuse to marry me," he said,
"you admit that these reports are true--you admit that you are afraid
to face society in the character of my wife." What could I answer?
There was no contradicting him--he was plainly right: if I persisted
in my refusal, the utter destruction of my reputation would be the result.
I consented to let the wedding take place as we had arranged it--
and left him. The night has passed. I am here, with my fixed conviction--
that innocent woman is ordained to have a fatal influence over my life.
I am here with my one question to put, to the one man who can answer it.
For the last time, sir, what am I--a demon who has seen the avenging
angel? or only a poor mad woman, misled by the delusion of a deranged
mind?'

Doctor Wybrow rose from his chair, determined to close the interview.

He was strongly and painfully impressed by what he had heard.
The longer he had listened to her, the more irresistibly
the conviction of the woman's wickedness had forced itself on him.
He tried vainly to think of her as a person to be pitied--a person
with a morbidly sensitive imagination, conscious of the capacities
for evil which lie dormant in us all, and striving earnestly to open
her heart to the counter-influence of her own better nature; the effort