"What would you tell me, Duplin? speak?" and he looked up perfectly unconscious of the truth. "Well then, Tremenhere, you are free; madame is dead!" "Dead!" exclaimed Miles, starting up pale and rigid; and, strange contradiction of the thought which the other endeavoured to convey to his mind, the fair, living Minnie seemed to stand before him. "Be a man!" said Duplin, soothingly; "think how false she was; think how painful a tie--of the disgrace!" and he grasped his arm. "Where did she die?" asked Miles, passing his hand over his brow to collect his thoughts; for he was in a stupor, not understanding really what the other meant to convey to him. "She was lost; the vessel was wrecked going to Malta," answered Duplin, who had unfolded the Marseilles paper, and, suspecting the contents sent by some unknown hand, placed the open sheet before the stupefied Tremenhere on the easel. Gradually the glazed eyes fell upon the page, and the names stood out bold and clear before him, "Madame Tremenhere (_Anglaise_) _et son enfant_," he dropped silently on the seat, and, shading his eyes, gazed on the sheet motionless and speechless. "Be yourself--be a man!" said Duplin, once more touching his arm. "I am!" cried Tremenhere, in a hoarse but steady voice, looking up. "I rejoice; better know her dead, than _his_!" and he rose and strode across the room. "I do rejoice, Duplin; see, my hand even does not tremble. Now I can bear my sorrow; now the world is one huge blank before me. I have lost that leper spot which was tainting all my flesh; I have no past, no present, no future--all is alike a blank. I can walk on in the darkness, nor fear to meet her form at every step!" Duplin stood awed by his calmness, it seemed so terrific over those young graves. "Who can have sent that paper?" he asked, taking the journal in his hand. "An enemy; but I guess him. I defy them all now! They can wound no more--my wound is cleansed, and healed; I defy them! the plague spot has left me! Rejoice Duplin, rejoice!" When he went forth from that house, his step was exact, the brow stern and cold, but untroubled, the mouth compressed and calm, and the pale woman closely veiled, who was concealed in a gateway watching the exit of him whom she had seen enter Duplin's abode, felt her hopeful heart loosen all its chords, and wellnigh burst in its sorrow, as she failed to read one regret on that face of stone. She knew he must have received the paper which told him all, and now indeed she felt he had never loved her--all was lost. She had but three things to comfort her; first, her own upright conscience, her boy, and the morbid satisfaction of being indeed dead to all, lone, and uncomforted, and thus she crept back to her gloomy garret.