him to reach here in season,—I wrote and told Raymond—paying him the compliment of the _form_ of an invitation—and telling him in the same letter of the escape, flight, and suicide of his mother. He did not come in season, as you know—though he grazed the edge of ‘the nick of time.’ “Now, Sophie, for another revulsion of feeling. From the time I first saw you, as I said, the idea of marrying you interested and amused me—your aversion stimulated my stagnant blood agreeably. I _lived_ in the thought of getting you into my power—life _came_ and waned with this thought. As the day of our marriage approached your antipathy thoroughly aroused me—I gloated over the idea of tormenting and torturing you. But when our marriage day drew _very_ near, you fell into apathy! That disappointed me. I thought you were going to die on my hands. My interest in you waned with your non-resistance. The wedding-day, the evening came, and I married you. You were then so still in your despair—so cold—so dead!—I felt swindled out of my enjoyment, and half regretted my bargain. I felt as the tyrant must feel when his victim on the rack expires before half the exquisite torments or the crowning torture is tried and suffered. Don’t shudder now, Sophie! I _was insane_! “Well, Sophie, I left your side to have a conversation with Dr. Otterback. I left you almost expiring. When I saw you again, life and light had returned to you. When you came up to me and laid your fair hand on my arm, so softly, and spoke to me so kindly, I gazed in wonder on your face; and, Sophie, the angel looking through your eyes subdued me. Your after kindness melted me into penitence. Still there were adverse influences at work. A mind shaken to its foundation, as mine had been, was not to be calmed soon, or stay calm long. The sudden sight of Raymond, the image of his mother, in her perfect beauty, connecting the present with the past so painfully, affected me more than the sight of Fanny herself had done. Alas! poor Fanny had been scarcely recognisable. I could scarcely realize the identity of that haggard wanderer of the heath with the resplendent beauty of the Villa. But her image lived again in Raymond. Never had the extraordinary resemblance struck me so forcibly, as when, after a long absence from _both_, I again saw Raymond. The associations conjured up, brought on that violent attack of phrensy that seized me at the Hall. Well, Sophie! my guardian angel, you have known all my moods since then. You know how your love has subdued my hate—your heaven redeemed my hell—your angel converted my demon. Enough, Sophie! your probation is almost over. My earthly life is drawing near its close. When I am gone, Raymond will be as a brother to you. Raymond is wealthy. Never since her separation from me have I appropriated a dollar of the fortune that came with his mother. I could not bear to do it. Now, dear Sophie! I am very tired; close the