this accusation at least was false. "Entertain this belief," he cried, "hug
it to your heart--make it a pillow to your head, an opiate for your eyes
--I am content. But, by the God that made me, hell is not more false than
the word you have spoken!"

Perdita was struck by the impassioned seriousness of his asseverations. She
replied with earnestness, "I do not refuse to believe you, Raymond; on the
contrary I promise to put implicit faith in your simple word. Only assure
me that your love and faith towards me have never been violated; and
suspicion, and doubt, and jealousy will at once be dispersed. We shall
continue as we have ever done, one heart, one hope, one life."

"I have already assured you of my fidelity," said Raymond with disdainful
coldness, "triple assertions will avail nothing where one is despised. I
will say no more; for I can add nothing to what I have already said, to
what you before contemptuously set aside. This contention is unworthy of
both of us; and I confess that I am weary of replying to charges at once
unfounded and unkind."

Perdita tried to read his countenance, which he angrily averted. There was
so much of truth and nature in his resentment, that her doubts were
dispelled. Her countenance, which for years had not expressed a feeling
unallied to affection, became again radiant and satisfied. She found it
however no easy task to soften and reconcile Raymond. At first he refused
to stay to hear her. But she would not be put off; secure of his unaltered
love, she was willing to undertake any labour, use any entreaty, to dispel
his anger. She obtained an hearing, he sat in haughty silence, but he
listened. She first assured him of her boundless confidence; of this he
must be conscious, since but for that she would not seek to detain him. She
enumerated their years of happiness; she brought before him past scenes of