She turned deadly pale, but never faltered: "The curse causeless shall not come," she said, "For the blood upon his hand, whether it were Harry's or a stranger's, makes no difference; it is washed out. He has repented long ago. If God has forgiven him, and helped him to be what he is, and lead the life he has led all these years, why should I not forgive him? And if I forgive, why not love him?--and if I love him, why break my promise, and refuse to marry him?" "Do you mean, then, to marry him?" said her sister. "Some day--if he wishes it--yes!" From this time, I myself hardly remember what passed; I can only see her standing there, her sweet face white as death, making no moan, and answering nothing to any accusations that were heaped upon her, except when she was commanded to give me up, entirely and for ever and ever. "I cannot, father. I have no right to do it. I belong to him; he is my husband." At last, Miss Johnston said to me--rather gently than not, for her: "I think, Doctor Urquhart, you had better go." My love looked towards me, and afterwards at her poor father; she too said, "Yes, Max, go." And then they wanted her to promise she would never see me, nor write to me; but she refused. "Father, I will not marry him for ever so long, if you choose--but I cannot forsake him. I must write to him. I am his very own, and he has only me. Oh, papa, think of yourself and my mother." And she sobbed at his knees. He must have thought of Harry's mother, not hers, for this exclamation only hardened him. Then Theodora rose, and gave me her little hand.--"It can hold firm, you will find. You have my promise. But whether or no, it would have been all the same. No love is worth having that could not, with or without a promise, keep true till death. You may trust me. Now, goodbye. Good-bye, my Max." With that one clasp of the hand, that one look into her fond, faithful eyes, we parted. I have never seen her since. ***** This statement, which is as accurate as I can make it, except in the case of those voluntary omissions which I believe you yourself would have desired, I here seal up, to be delivered to you with those other letters in case I should die while you are still Theodora Johnston. I have also made my will, leaving you all my effects, and appointing you my sole executrix; putting you, in short, in exactly the same position as if you had been my wife. This is best, in order that by no chance should the secret ooze out through any guesses of any person not connected with your family; also because I think it is what you would wish yourself. You said truly, I have only you. Another word, which I do not name in my ordinary letters, lest I might grieve you by what may prove to be only a fancy of mine.