There was a firmness in my manner, a decision in the tones of my voice, which startled him more than what I said, and with a faint cry he too arose, and coming to my side, said, “God forgive you, Rose, for the cruel words you have uttered, but you cannot be in earnest.” And then, with the firelight flickering over his pale face, he plead with me “to think again, to revoke what I had said, and not to send him away utterly hopeless and wretched. The love I had felt for him once, though chilled and dormant now, _would bloom_ again, for _he_ could bring it back to life, and I must be his; he could not live without me. I need not decide then, that night,” he said, “he would give me time,” and again he pressed for my answer, which was the same as before; for, much as I pitied him, there was between us a _dark shadow_, and the substance of that shadow bore the form and features of _Richard Delafield_! Sinking into a chair, he laid his head upon the table, while, burying my face in the cushions of the sofa, I wept bitterly, stealing occasional glances towards the bowed form which, in its despair, gave no sign of life. There was no acting there, for it was the grief of a strong man which I saw. Without, the storm had ceased; the wind had died away, and the rain no longer beat against the casement; but within, there raged a wilder storm of human passions, and as it swept over me in its full force, I cried, mentally, “Ought I thus to deal with him? I loved him once, perhaps I could do so again. I would at least try.” And, rising up, I glided noiselessly to his side. He did not hear me, and, for a time, I stood gazing down upon him, while I thought of all he had suffered, and of his love for me, which I could not doubt. The shadow no longer stood between us; it was gone, and, strengthened by its absence, I laid my hand upon his shoulder. He shuddered as if it had been a serpent’s touch, but when I whispered in his ear, “Look up, I have something to tell you,” he raised his head, disclosing to my view a face over which years seemed to have passed since last I had looked upon it. “I will try,” I said, “but give me one day for reflection, and to-morrow night you shall have your answer.” As the clouds are dispersed by the soft rays of the sun, so the shadows passed from his brow at my words, and clasping me in his arms he wept over me, as Heaven grant I may never see man weep again. The fire on the hearth had long since gone out. The lamp was burning dimly, and the moon-beams came faintly in through an eastern window ere I bade him good night, and sought the solitude of my room, where my resolution almost instantly gave way, for the _shadow_ was there, and in its presence I felt I would rather die than wed a man I did not love. “Oh, for a female friend with whom to counsel in my need,” I said, as I nervously paced the room.