But he could not go back—his evil work must be fully accomplished; now to shrink or waver, would be to expose himself; that he could not contemplate for a moment. Zulima became sensible, at last. It was a long time, but finally she opened her eyes and sat up. “He is gone,” she said lifting her heavy eyes to Smith, “he is gone without a word of explanation.” “What could he explain, but that which he would not wish to say face to face with his victim? He has deceived you with a mock marriage. I knew that it would prove so. You are free, you are wealthy, if you choose. Be resigned; there is no redress.” “No redress!” Zulima repeated the word over and over again. “No redress! I thought myself his wife; I am the mother of his child; O God! Myra, Myra, my poor, poor child—” * * * * They were parted—Zulima solemnly believed that she had never been the wife of Daniel Clark, that she was free—oh, how cruelly free—and another loved her. Wounded in her pride, broken in spirit, outraged, humiliated, utterly alone; was it strange that the poor torn heart of that young creature at length became grateful for the affection that her grief and her desolation had excited? She told him all, and still that young man loved her, still he besought her to become his wife; and she, unhappy woman—consented. There was to be no secresy—no private marriage now; in the full blaze of day—robed in satin, glossy and white as the leaves of a magnolia, her magnificent tresses bound with white roses, her bridal vail looped to the curls upon her temple with a snowy blossom, and falling over her, wave after wave, like a cloud of summer mist. Thus went Zulima Clark forth to her last bridal. It was a mournful sight; that young girl so beautiful, so fated, standing before the altar, her large eyes surcharged with sorrowful remembrances of the past, and her poor heart heaving with a wild presentiment of coming evil, till the rose upon her bosom, and the pearls upon her throat, trembled as if a wind were passing over them. It was a mournful, mournful wedding; for there, Zulima, the wife of Daniel Clark, sealed the perfidy of her enemies. Beautiful bride, innocent woman, thine was a hard destiny! CHAPTER IV. Once again they met, And then they saw, each in the other’s heart, And the black falsehood that had sever’d them Rose palpable and hideous to the thought. Hot tears were shed—sad blessings mutely given! They met, and parted—he went to meet his death, And she to weep o’er bitter memories!