It was not now for me to pursue the subject; it was for her to confide freely in me, if such was her desire. There was a silence of a few moments before she resumed: "My husband, having hidden nothing from you, has told you all that occurred in my dear native village, Nerac, before we were married?" "He has told me all, I believe," I said. "Of my beloved parents--of friends once dear to me--Eric, murdered, and the unhappy Emilius?" "I am acquainted with all the particulars of that tragic event." "Sadly changed, worn, haggard, and travel-stained, in the man we met in the forest I recognised Emilius." XVIII. This, indeed, was startling news. Emilius alive, his term of imprisonment over, or he an escaped convict, seeking an interview with Mrs. Carew, the wife of the man whom he regarded as his bitterest enemy! To what was this to lead?--in what way was it to end? "Did Mr. Carew recognise him?" I asked. "I cannot tell you," replied Mrs. Carew. "Not a word passed between us respecting him. _I_ did not dare to speak. It would but have been to reopen old wounds, and after all I may have been mistaken. Not for me to bring back to my husband the memories of a past in which he was so cruelly misjudged. Besides, this was the one and only subject upon which my husband and I were not in harmony. He most firmly believed and believes in Emilius's guilt; I as firmly believed and believe in his innocence. The years that have flown have not softened my husband's judgment nor hardened mine; and until this hour the name of Emilius has never passed my lips since we settled in Rosemullion. No, it was not for me to utter it in my husband s presence; it was not for me to bring pain to his kind heart. I said nothing, nor did my husband, nor did he attempt to follow the stranger. In silence we walked back to the house, and the evening passed as usual. Reginald came, and we had music and conversation. On the part of Mildred and your son converse was cheerful and unconstrained, and I also strove to be cheerful. I was so far successful as to deceive the children, but my husband was not so easily blinded. And yet he made no allusion to the subject which engrossed my thoughts, and weighed like a dark cloud upon my heart. The hour grew late, and I sent Reginald home. Young people in love have always to be reminded. Then my husband and I retired to rest. Troubled as I was, sleep was long in coming to me, but at length Nature was merciful, and I sank into slumber. I awoke at the soft chiming of our silver clock, proclaiming the hour of two. Never do I remember being awoke by the chiming of this clock, so low and sweet is it; and that I should awake now as it struck two may have been simply a coincidence. I sat up in bed. I was alone. My husband was not in the room; his clothes were gone, and he had doubtless gone out fully dressed. In great fear I rose and dressed, with the