Edith's hand trembled in his, but she answered cheerfully: "The close! ah, no: look upward. God has tried us both with grievous trials. Mine will cease first. Yours is the hardest to bear: to linger here--to do God's work alone. Let me be to you like one departed a little while before you, that would not be mourned, but remembered always." They were both silent for some moments; Seymore contending with unutterable regret, oppressed with an emotion that was almost the agony of remorse. Edith understood his contending emotions. "Think," she said, "that you have been the instrument of Providence to lead me to heaven. I do not regret to die early: God has permitted me to solve the mystery of life. I see his hand even from the moment when that child was committed to my care. Thank God, I can now submit to his will; and, although life were sweet with you, my death may bring you nearer to heaven." "Edith," he said at last, "I have been deceived. Such faith, such divine forgiveness, such noble fortitude, cannot be the work of evil spirits. Your faith is purer and stronger than mine,--your reason more enlightened. I have erred, dreadfully erred." A bright smile illumined her face, and she pressed his hand in hers. "I have done most dreadfully wrong," he said; "I sinned from ignorance." "God will forgive you," said Edith; "and I,--I cannot forgive, for I could not blame." He started up. "It is not too late to repair this dreadful evil: it will be easy for you to escape. If I cannot gain a reversion of the sentence, we can escape: we will leave this country of delusion and error; we will go home--to England. There, O Edith--" The blood for a moment rushed to Edith's cheek and brow; but she answered, sadly, "No, Seymore, it cannot be; after all that has passed, it would ruin your character, your prospects, your usefulness, forever. We are too weak to stem, to oppose this mad delusion. Bigotry and power are all around us." "You hesitate. Ah, you do not love me as you did;" and he became again violently agitated. Edith took his hand in hers, and pressed it to her lips. "Tempt me not," she said, "with visions of happiness that can never be. Let us rather pray to God to support us in this bitter hour." They bowed their young heads together, and their tears mingled. Edith's silent prayer was wholly for him. True to her woman's nature, she forgot herself in his deeper sorrow. He was calm, and Edith would not prolong the interview; and Seymore left her all the more hastily as he was determined to employ every means to save her. He was not permitted to enjoy that happiness. CHAPTER XIX. "See, they are gone!-- The earth has bubbles, as the waters have, And these are some of them. They vanished Into the air, and what seemed corporal, Melted as breath into the wind." SHAKSPEARE.