He started up, then dropped into his seat again, exclaiming— “Sophie! I do not understand you; what is the meaning of this? What has brought about this strange, this—ah! but for _one_ fact—blessed change in your feelings towards me?” “That very fact you allude to—that _very_ fact!” then dropping her voice to its softest, gentlest tones she murmured—“You have a secret that corrodes and burns your heart out—a dreadful suffering that being suppressed has gained depth, and strength, and intensity—a fearful malady that being concealed has increased in power; let it be so no longer; relieve your overladen breast; pour all your sorrows into your wife’s bosom—she will never betray or forsake you. Oh! believe it. She partly knows your secret—she knows that sometimes—under some influences—a storm drives in your fine mind—that the clouds gather thick and black—the thunder roars and the lightnings flash, and that all is confusion, danger, and terror for a space—she also knows that when this storm has passed through your soul, the sun of reason shines out calm and bright. She knows all this, and she loves you for these sufferings.” He had grown as pale as death while she spoke, his features wearing the expression of deepest despair; he dropped his head upon his hands, his elbows resting on his knees, and groaned. “Then it is all at an end, this masquerade. When was it discovered—when did I betray myself, Sophie, and who knows of this besides yourself?” “Except your son, no one besides myself; and it is indispensable that I should know it.” “And he told you—curse—” “Oh, do not say that!” “I did not wish you to know it, Sophie; I was merciful, or selfish, or proud, and firm and cunning enough to keep it from you, Sophie, as I have kept it from every one else.” “Yes, and increased your own suffering and danger, and diminished the chances of cure. And, Mr. Withers, you would have suffered more in concealing your illness from me than from any one else. You would have found more difficulty in it, and dreaded more the consequences of the constantly threatened discovery. Now you have a friend and confidant—now you will be at peace, will you not?” He drew her to his bosom and blessed her. A summons to supper now called all the company in. He arose, and drawing her arm through his own, entered the house. CHAPTER XI. HAGAR. “The wild sparkle of her eye seemed caught From high—and lightened with electric thought— And pleased not her the sports that please her age.” BYRON.