His cousin looked at him in blank astonishment, wondering if he was losing his mind that he should make such a statement as that, or if it was some lover’s quarrel that had driven Earle home in such despair. Earle, without waiting for a reply, proceeded to relate to him the story of Editha’s relationship to himself. “It is killing me,” he said, when he had finished. “I rebel every day against the cruel fate that has separated us, for I love her only as a man can love the woman who should be his wife, and shall love her thus until I die. You love her, also; and perhaps, if you can win her, you both may yet know much of domestic peace. If I cannot conquer my sinful heart I may die, and you will then regain what you have lost, while Editha will, after all, be mistress of Wycliffe.” “Earle, do not speak thus,” Mr. Tressalia said, with deep emotion, for the wild bitterness and misery of his cousin grieved him. “I was glad to relinquish Wycliffe to you when I knew that it rightly belonged to you. I do not covet it, and I would not have matters in this respect other than as they are. I hope, too, that you may live to see a lusty heir growing up to take it after you. But this is a strange story you have told me—Editha your half-sister! Mr. Dalton your father!” “Yes, it is even so, though I would gladly give every acre of my inheritance to have it proved otherwise.” “You must resemble your mother’s family alone, then, and she her mother, for there is not a single point of resemblance between you to testify to any such relationship.” “I do not know as to that. I only know that the _facts exist_ to prove it,” Earle said, dejectedly. “Poor child! she loved you so devotedly, she was so proud of you, and she must have suffered also. I would that I could give you both back your lost happiness. Is it not strange that only out of the ruin of either your hopes or mine happiness can come to either of us?” Mr. Tressalia said, regretfully. “It is ruined whether you win or not, and yet I go on sinning day after day, loving her as madly as ever,” Earle cried, clenching his hands in his pain. “Go, go,” he added; “when she is once your wife, I may be able to gain something of peace, or the semblance of it.” Paul Tressalia needed no second bidding, though it must be confessed he was not elated by any very strong hope of success. His heart told him that if Editha loved with the same intensity as Earle, it would be as enduring as eternity, and he could never hope to win her as his wife. Still he could not rest content until he had once more put his fate to the test, and, with a tender though sad parting from his noble-hearted kinsman, he once more crossed the broad Atlantic. He reached Newport in the height of its gayety, and was enthusiastically welcomed by his old acquaintances. To his surprise Mr. Dalton received him with great coolness, surmising at once the errand upon which he had come.