“I had hoped it might have been otherwise; I had hoped, for your sake, that we might have been allowed to live for some little time at least, happily together; but that God whom you have taught me to worship and submit to, no doubt judges wisely; and, we must, I fear, look to our approaching, final separation.” At these words, poor Emmeline could no longer command herself; an agonized scream escaped from her bursting heart, as she sank on the floor before him. “My Emmeline! my dear Emmeline!” he cried, endeavouring to raise her in his feeble arms—“Spare me—I entreat you—I cannot bear to see you suffer thus—have pity on me.” “I will, I will,” she almost convulsively exclaimed, “but this is too—too much for me.” “You mistake me, Emmeline,” said he, endeavouring to calm the agony he had caused. “There may be hope yet; Baillie is you know famous for seeing every thing _en noir_—he was very plain-spoken with me, for I forced him to be so; but recollect, Emmeline,” added he, endeavouring to cheer his voice, “even Baillie may be mistaken, and while there is life there is hope: before winter, we are to go to a warmer climate; you will pray to heaven for me, and your prayers, dearest, will perhaps be heard. They have already once restored us to each other; they may do so again. I should not have said all this to you, I believe, but it is so necessary to me now to conceal nothing from you, that I could not have borne the load alone; but, for God’s sake, dear Emmeline, compose yourself, and for my sake, bear up.” And for his sake, she did exert herself; for of what is the female character not capable, when nerved by strong affection? All was settled for their leaving England the beginning of October, when they were to repair to Lisbon; till then, it was thought that the climate of Hampshire would be better for Fitzhenry than that of Portugal. The season was unusually fine; and, sometimes, when well enough to wander a little way from the house, the balmy air, and cheering sounds and sights of a fine autumn, seemed to revive him; and, if ever he prolonged his walk one yard further than he had done on the preceding day—if he had ever appeared rather more cheerful—his voice stronger—Emmeline, to whose young heart happiness was so necessary, then again, for the moment, gave way to delightful anticipations. Had she ventured to look back, and trace from week to week the rapid progress of the fatal disease, that was fast hurrying its victim to the grave, she could not have indulged even such momentary gleams of hope, but then also, she could not have performed her hard task with the courage she did.