“Ha!” ejaculated Reynolds, as if to himself; “sanity has done more to betray me than delirium.  Well, Ella,” continued he, addressing her more direct, “you have heard enough to make you doubtful of my character; therefore you must needs hear the whole, that you may not judge me worse than I am; but remember, withal, the tale is for your ear alone.”

“Nay, Mr. Reynolds, if it be a secret, I would rather not have it in keeping,” answered Ella.

“It is a secret,” returned Reynolds, solemnly, with his eyes cast down in a dejected manner; “a secret, I would to Heaven I had not myself in keeping! but hear it you must, Ella, for various reasons, from my lips; and then we part—­(his voice slightly faltered) we part—­forever!”

“Forever!” gasped Ella, quickly, with a choking sensation, while her features grew pale, and then suddenly flushed, and her work unconsciously dropped from her hand.  Then, as if ashamed of having betrayed her feelings, she became confused, and endeavored to cover the exposure by adding, with a forced laugh:  “But really, Mr. Reynolds, I must crave pardon for my silly behavior—­but your manner of speaking, somehow, startled me—­and—­and I—­before I was aware—­really, it was very silly—­indeed it was, and I pray you overlook it!”

“Were circumstances not as I have too much reason to fear they are,” returned Reynolds, slowly, sadly, and impressively, with his eyes fixed earnestly and even tenderly upon the other, “I would not exchange that simple expression of yours, Ella, for a mine of gold.  By that alone you have spoken volumes, and told me what I already feared was true, but hoped was otherwise.  Nay, turn not your head away, Ella—­dear Ella, if you will allow me so to address you—­it is better, under the circumstances, that we speak plainly and understandingly, as the time of our final separation draweth near.  I fear that my manner and language have hitherto too much expressed my feelings, and encouraged hopes in you that can never be realized.  Oh!  Ella, if such be the case, I would, for your dear sake, we had never met!—­and the thought hereafter, that I have caused you a pang, will add its weight of anguish to my already bitter lot.  The days that I have spent beneath this hospitable roof, and in your sweet presence, are so many of bright sunshine, in a life of cloud and storm; but will only serve, as I recall them, to make the remainder, by contrast, seem more dark and dreary.  From the first I learned you were an orphan, and my sympathy was aroused in your behalf; subsequently, I listened to your recital of grief, and trouble, and cold treatment by the world—­told in an artless manner—­and in spite of me, in spite of my struggles to the contrary, I discovered awakening in my breast a feeling of a stronger nature.  Had my wound permitted, I should have torn myself from your presence then, with the endeavor, if such a thing were possible, to forget you; but, alas! fate ordered otherwise, and the consequence I fear will be to add sorrow to both.  But one thing, dear Ella, before I go further, let me ask:  Can you, and will you forgive me, for the manner in which I have conducted myself in your company?”