girl, who was cruelly taken away from me by the hand of violence, as you know.  Arabel grew to girlhood, lovely as a houri.  Lovely, however, is not the right word; she was royally magnificent.  I have seen many elegant women, but never one who for stately grace and beauty would compare with her.  She had many suitors, but she favored none, until he came—­Paul Linmere, the fiend and destroyer!  Ill health had driven him to Cuba, to try the effect of our southern air, and soon after his arrival, he became acquainted with Arabel.  He was very handsome and fascinating, and much sought after by the fair ladies of my native town.  Arabel was vain, and his devoted attentions flattered her, while his handsome face and fascinating address won her love.  She was a passionate child of the South, uncalculating as a babe where her affections were concerned; and before my parents had begun to ascertain any danger from Linmere’s society, she had left everything, and fled with him.

“My mother was plunged in grief, for she had loved Arabel like an own child; and the uncertainty of her fate, I think, hastened my mother’s death.  My father left no means untried to discover the whereabouts of the erring girl—­but in vain.  For years her fate was shrouded in mystery.  My parents died.  Inez was taken from me, and weary and heartsick, I came to New York, hoping to find some distraction in new scenes, and among a new people.

“The day before you left New York, I received a message from Arabel Vere.  She was in Boston ill unto death.  She wanted to see me once more; and she had a sin upon her conscience, which she must confess before she died; and she must confess it to no person but myself.  In obedience to this summons, I hurried to Boston, and the same train that carried me, carried you, also.

“I found Arabel but a mere wreck of her former self.  Her countenance told me how fearfully she had suffered.  She was very ill, in a wretched room, with no attendants or medical aid.  I had her immediately removed to lodgings suitable for her, and provided a nurse and a physician.  From that time she began to mend, and in a couple of days the physician pronounced her out of immediate danger.  When she knew her life was to be prolonged, she refused to make the confession she had summoned me to hear.  So long as there was any prospect of her recovery, she said, she must keep the matter a secret.  But she could not die and leave it untold.  Therefore she promised that whenever she should feel death approaching she should send again for me, and relieve her soul by the confession of her sin.  A few days ago came her second summons.

“Previous to this only a little while, I had been inadvertently a listener to an altercation between Archer Trevlyn and his wife, during which Mrs. Trevlyn, in a fit of rage, denounced her husband as the murderer of Paul Linmere.  She produced proofs, which I confess struck me as strangely, satisfactory, and affirmed her belief in his guilt.  She also told him that because the knowledge of his crime had come to you, you had discarded him, and left New York, to be rid of him forever!