Alas for the misapprehensions of this world. _He_ was thinking only of the strange disclosure made to him concerning Mr. Adair; _she_ only of his engagement to Miss Dallory. At her avowal a multitude of thoughts came surging through his brain. All! She knew _all!_ "Have you known it long?" he questioned in low tones. "The time may be counted by days." He jumped to the conclusion that Mrs. Cumberland had disclosed it to her on her death-bed. And Ellen's knowledge of it improved his position just a little. But, looking at her, at her pale sweet face and downcast eyes, at the anguish betrayed in every line of her countenance, and which she could not conceal, Arthur Bohun's heart was filled to overflowing with a strange pity, that seemed almost to reach the point of breaking. He drew nearer to her. "Thank God that you understand, Ellen--that at least you do not think me the shameless scoundrel I must otherwise have appeared," he whispered, his voice trembling with its deep emotion. "I cannot help myself: you must see that I cannot, as you know all. The blow nearly killed me. My fate--our fate, if I may dare still so far to couple your name with mine--is a very bitter one." Ellen had begun to shiver. Something in his words grated terribly on her ear: and pride enabled her to keep down outward emotion. "You left the ring and licence with me," she abruptly said, in perhaps a sudden bitterness of temper. "What am I to do with them?" "Burn them--destroy them," he fiercely replied. "They are worthless to us now." But he so spoke only in his anguish. Ellen interpreted it differently. "God help us both, Ellen! A cruel fate has parted us for this world: but we may be permitted to be together in the next. It is all my hope now. Heaven bless you, Ellen! Our paths in life must lie apart, but I pray always that yours may be a happy one." Without further word, without touching her hand, thus he left her. Limping on to the broad path, and then down it towards the churchyard gate.