approval of her own conscience?  You have said her love was a palliation.  No, you are wrong; it is an aggravation of her fault.  She should have loved me too well to suffer me to discover by chance what should have been disclosed in confidence.  Mary, her love is not greater than mine.  None know how I have cherished her memory—­how I have kept her loved image in my heart during our long separation.  I would give every earthly joy or possession to retain her affection, for it is dearer to me than everything beside, save truth, candor, and honesty.  I have nothing to conceal from her; I would willingly bare my secret soul to her scrutiny.  There is nothing I should wish to keep back, unless it be the pain of this hour.”

He paused by her side, and looked tenderly on the pale, yet lovely face of Florence.

“Mr. Stewart, shall one fault forever destroy your confidence in Florry, when she has declared that had she thought it incumbent on her to speak of these things—­if she had felt as you do, she asserts that nothing could have prevented her revealing every circumstance.”

“Mary, I fear her code of morality is somewhat too lax; and the fact that she acknowledges no fault is far more painful than any other circumstance.”

“Mary, I have omitted one thing which I wish him to know.  I neglected to inform you, that the priest to whom I confessed is my half-brother!  I have now told you all; and thinking as you do, it is better that in future we forget the past and be as strangers to each other.  That I have loved you fervently, I can never forget—­neither your assertion that I am unworthy of your confidence.”

She disengaged her dress from Mary’s clasp, and turned toward the door.  Mr. Stewart caught her hand, and firmly held it.  She struggled not to release herself, but lifted her dark eyes to his, and calmly met his earnest glance.

“Florence!”

There was a mournful tenderness in the deep tone.  Her lip quivered, still her eyes fell not beneath his, piercing as an eagle’s.

“Mr Stewart, you have wronged her; you have been too severe.”  And Mary clasped his hand tightly, and looked up appealingly.  He withdrew his hand.

“Florence, this is a bitter, bitter hour to me.  Yet I may have judged too harshly:  we will forget the past, and, in future, let no such cloud come between us.”

“Not so, Mr. Stewart:  if I am unworthy, how can you expect confidence from me?  Think you I will change the code which you just now pronounced too lax?  Oh! you know not what you have done.  It is no light thing to tell a woman of my nature she is unworthy of the love she prized above every earthly thing!” Her voice, despite her efforts, faltered.

“Florence, I have been too severe in my language, and you too proud and haughty.  Full well we know that without the love of each other life would be joyless to both.  Ours is not a common love; and again I say, let us forget the past, while, in future, need I ask you to keep nothing from me?”