"And recollect, Paul, the breach between us must be final--it must be a clean cut; and you must not think, even after it has been made, that there are any frayed and jagged points left which are capable, at some time or another, of being reunited. We have seen each other for the last time; we have parted for ever. There must be no question of any interview or adieu; we are neither of us of such angelic tempers that we could expect to meet without reproaches and high words; and I, at all events, should be glad in the future to recall the last loving look in your eyes, and the last earnest pressure of your hand. "And that mention of the future reminds me, this letter is the last communication you will receive from me; and when you have finished reading it, you must look upon me as someone dead and passed away. If by chance you ever meet me in the street, you must look upon me as the ghost of someone whom you once knew, and forbear to speak to me. It will not be very difficult to imagine this; for, God knows, I shall be no more like the Fanny Stafford whom you have known than the Fanny Derinzy you would have made me. No matter what I am, no matter what I may become, you will have ceased to have any pretext for inquiring into my state; and I distinctly forbid your attempting to interfere with me in the slightest degree. Does that sound harsh, Paul? I do not mean it so; I swear I do not mean it so. If you knew--but you do not, and never shall. You are hot and impetuous and weak; I am cool and clear-brained and strong-minded: you look only at the present; I think for the future. You will repeat all this bitterly, saying that I am right, and that my conduct plainly shows I know exactly how to describe myself; I know you will, I can almost hear you say it. I half wish I could hear you say anything, so that I could listen to your dear voice once again; but that could never be. "Goodbye, Paul! At some future time, not very long hence, when all this has blown over, and you are in love with, and perhaps married to, someone else, you will acknowledge I was right, and think sometimes not unkindly of me. But I shall never think of you again. Once more, goodbye, Paul! I should like to say, God bless you! if I thought such a prayer from me would be of any use." Paul Derinzy read this letter through twice, and folded it up and placed it in his pocket. Ten minutes afterwards the writing-room bell rang violently, and the servant, on answering was surprised to find an old gentleman kneeling on the floor, and bending over the prostrate body of Mr. Derinzy, whose face was very white, whose neck-cloth was untied, and who the old gentleman said was in a fit. CHAPTER XXIX. RELENTING.