Mrs. Shinfield shrugged her shoulders, and departed. A few moments
more--a step on the stairs, the creaking of the door,--and Maltravers
and Florence were again alone. He stood motionless on the threshold.
She had involuntarily risen, and so they stood opposite to each other,
and the lamp fell full upon her face. Oh, Heaven! when did that sight
cease to haunt the heart of Maltravers! When shall that altered aspect
not pass as a ghost before his eyes!--there it is, faithful and
reproachful alike in solitude and in crowds--it is seen in the glare of
noon--it passes dim and wan at night beneath the stars and the earth--it
looked into his heart and left its likeness there for ever and for ever!
Those cheeks, once so beautifully rounded, now sunken into lines and
hollows--the livid darkness beneath the eyes--the whitened lip--the
sharp, anxious, worn expression, which had replaced that glorious and
beaming regard from which all the life of genius, all the sweet pride of
womanhood had glowed forth, and in which not only the intelligence, but
the eternity of the soul, seemed visibly wrought.

There he stood, aghast and appalled. At length a low groan broke from
his lips--he rushed forward, sank on his knees beside her, and clasping
both her hands, sobbed aloud as he covered them with kisses. All the
iron of his strong nature was broken down, and his emotions, long
silenced, and now uncontrollable and resistless, were something terrible
to behold!

"Do not--do not weep so," murmured Lady Florence, frightened by his
vehemence; "I am sadly changed, but the fault is mine--Ernest, it is
mine; best, kindest, gentlest, how could I have been so mad! And you
forgive me? I am yours again--a little while yours. Ah, do not grieve
while I am so blessed!"