“I do feel that love; I would, Guy that I felt it not—­that it did exist only in my words.  I were then far happier than I am now, since stern look or language from you would then utterly fail to vex and wound as it does now.  I can not bear your reproaches; look not thus upon me, and speak not in those harsh sentences—­not now—­not now, at least, and in this melancholy presence.”

Her looks turned upon the dead body of her parent as she spoke, and with convulsive effort she rushed toward and clasped it round.  She threw herself beside the corpse and remained inanimate, while the outlaw, leaving the house for an instant, called the negro servant and commanded her attendance.  He now approached the girl, and taking up her hand, which lay supine upon the bosom of the dead body, would have soothed her grief; but though she did not repulse, she yet did not regard him.

“Be calm, Ellen,” he said, “recover and be firm.  In the morning you shall have early and good attention, and with this object, in part, am I disposed to hurry now.  Think not, girl, that I forget you.  Whatever may be my fortune, I shall always have an eye to yours.  I leave you now, but shall see you before long, when I shall settle you permanently and comfortably.  Farewell.”

He left her in seeming unconsciousness of the words whispered in her ears, yet she heard them all, and duly estimated their value.  To her, to whom he had once pledged himself entirely, the cold boon of his attention and sometime care was painfully mortifying.  She exhibited nothing, however, beyond what we have already seen, of the effect of this consolation upon her heart.  There is a period in human emotions, when feeling itself becomes imperceptible—­when the heart (as it were) receives the coup de grace, and days, and months, and years, before the body expires, shows nothing of the fire which is consuming it.

We would not have it understood to be altogether the case with the young destitute before us; but, at least, if she still continued to feel these still-occurring influences, there was little or no outward indication of their power upon the hidden spirit.  She said nothing to him on his departure, but with a half-wandering sense, that may perhaps have described something of the ruling passion of an earlier day, she rose shortly after he had left the house, and placing herself before the small mirror which surmounted the toilet in the apartment, rearranged with studious care, and with an eye to its most attractive appearance, the long and flowing tresses of that hair, which, as we have already remarked, was of the most silky and raven-like description.  Every ringlet was adjusted to its place, as if nothing of sorrow was about her—­none of the badges and evidences of death and decay in her thought.  She next proceeded to the readjustment of the dress she wore, taking care that a string of pearl, probably the gift of her now indifferent lover, should leave its place in the little cabinet, where,