“‘Tis I, Marguerite, and so repentant, and ashamed, so guilty, that I dared not to pass the threshold. I was afraid to enter; so I waited till Nannie came to the door, and then I spoke to her. My father has told me all. I fled, no one knew where, after that night; travelled night and day, without sleep, without hope, ever pursued by vague presentiments. If I had not found thee, I must have died, for should I not have been the cause of thy death? Tell me that you pardon me, that you forgive, too, my poor father.” “_I_ pardon? _I_, the guilty one? And I did what I thought the best for thy happiness, even at the expense of my own. But now, thy father will not separate us again. Ah! look at me, I am not the creature that you left, yet--yet, I am still young, and I shall grow beautiful now that I am happy. We will forget the past and commence a new life from this good day.” “Never to leave thee again--never. We will quit the house. Quit Paris for ever. We will be happy, for our future is our own.” “Speak on, speak on, my soul burns at thy words, and each moment I gather new strength. I said this morning thou couldst save me, and I was right.” Then she said they must go together, and kneel in the nearest church, and pray, and be grateful; and as she spoke she staggered to her feet again, and called to her maid to bring her a shawl and bonnet. As the girl came forward, the youth had a good word for her. “Oh,” continued the suffering woman, “Nannie and I talked of thee every day, and she always said thou wouldst come back, and she was right. So thou hast seen beautiful countries since that time. Ah! well, now we will see them together.” “Marguerite, thou hast turned quite pale, and thou art so cold!” “Oh, nothing, ’tis nothing,” she said, hurriedly, and nervously drawing a thick shawl about her. “The coming in of so much joy; why joy sometimes is as hard to bear as grief itself.” And then she dropped exhausted upon the nearest chair. “Dear Marguerite! speak, speak to me.” “Be not afraid, you know I was always subject to these sudden fits of weakness, but they are gone almost directly. Watch me, thou seest I can smile already. And again I feel strong. ’Twas only the hope of life thrilling through me.” Taking her thin hand he said, “how thou tremblest.” “No, no. I _will_ go out. Nannie, give me a bonnet.” He drew away from her for a moment in horror. She again strove to stand, but could not. Then falling upon a seat, she tore off the shawl and cried “I am dying, I am dying.” As he flung himself down by her side, the serving girl ran from the room, and sped away, crying out that she would go for the doctor. “Yes, yes, bring him to me, tell him Armand is here--that I want to live--that I WILL live. Why, if thy return doth not save me, nothing can!” “Oh, thou wilt live, dearest.”