and, still looking fixedly in his face, went on.

“When I was irrevocably married, there rose up into rebellion against the tie the old strife, made fiercer by all those causes of disparity which arise out of our two individual natures, and which no general laws shall ever rule or state for me, Father, until they shall be able to direct the anatomist where to strike his knife into the secrets of my soul.”

“Louisa!” he said, and said imploringly, for he well remembered what had passed between them in their former interview.

“I do not reproach you, Father; I make no complaint. I am here with another object.”

“What can I do, child? Ask me what you will.”

“I am coming to it. Father, chance then threw into my way a new acquaintance, a man such as I had had no experience of—used to the world; light, polished, easy; making no pretences; avowing the low estimate of everything, that I was half afraid to form in secret; conveying to me almost immediately, though I don’t know how or by what degrees, that he understood me, and read my thoughts. I could not find that he was worse than I. There seemed to be a near affinity between us. I only wondered it should be worth his while, who cared for nothing else, to care so much for me.”

“For you, Louisa!”

Her father might instinctively have loosened his hold, but that he felt her strength departing from her, and saw a wild dilating fire in the eyes steadfastly regarding him.

“I say nothing of his plea for claiming my confidence. It matters very little how he gained it. Father, he did gain it. What you know of the story of my marriage, he soon knew, just as well.”

Her father’s face was ashy white, and he held her in both his arms.

“I have done no worse. I have not disgraced you. But if you ask me whether I have loved him, or do love him, I tell you plainly, Father, that it may be so. I don’t know.”

She took her hands suddenly from his shoulders and pressed them both upon her side, while in her face, not like itself—and in her figure, drawn up, resolute to finish by a last effort what she had to say—the feelings long supressed broke loose.

“This night, my husband being away, he had been with me, declaring himself my lover. This minute he expects me, for I could release myself of his presence by no other means. I do not know that I am sorry, I do not know that I am ashamed, I do not know that I am degraded in my own esteem. All that I know is, your philosophy and your teaching will not save me. Now, Father, you have brought me to this. Save me by some other means!”

He tightened his hold in time to prevent her sinking on the floor, but she cried out in a terrible voice, “I shall die if you hold me! Let me fall upon the ground!” And he laid her down there, and saw the pride of his heart and the triumph of his system lying, an insensible heap, at his feet.

END OF THE SECOND BOOK

BOOK THE THIRD

Garnering

CHAPTER I

Another Thing Needful

LOUISA awoke from a torpor, and her eyes languidly opened on her old bed at home, and her old room. It seemed, at first, as if all that had happened since the days when these objects were familiar to her were the shadows of a dream; but gradually, as the objects became more real to her sight, the events became more real to her mind.

She could scarcely move her head for pain and heaviness; her eyes were strained and sore, and she was very weak. A curious passive inattention had such possession of her that the presence of her little sister in the room did not attract her notice for some time. Even when their eyes had met, and her sister had approached the bed, Louisa lay for minutes looking at her in silence, and suffering her timidly to hold her passive hand, before she asked:

“When was I brought to this room?”

“Last night, Louisa.”

“Who brought me here?”

“Sissy, I believe.”

“Why do you believe so?”

“Because I found her here this morning. She didn’t come to my bed-side to wake me, as she always does; and I went to look for her. She was not in her own room either; and I went looking for her all over the house, until I found her here taking