How familiar and yet strange it looked, as I drew near, viewed in the light of my wider experiences--a dark and lonely little tenement, but haunted by what wistful ghost at last, a spirit more potent than all its old-time spectres of melancholy and decay. Whatever might come to be, it was hallowed for evermore in the memory of that possession. My heart was very full as I approached it, and entered by the open door, and stepped softly into what had been my sanctuary. “Ira,” I whispered, half choking--“if only it could be Ira!” “O, Richard! it is me.” Sweet imperfection of sweet lips and slips! What has love to do with grammar? With a sob I had her in my arms. I could not help it--this dream, this rapture--and I was overwrought. The gentle lovely child! How she understood, and quieted my quivering face with her soft hand, and spoke to me in murmurs of heavenly pity as if I were her child, her baby, the first-born of her heart. And I bent to her in an ecstasy of submission, until I felt the manhood in me rise and strike for conquest. * * * * * * * * * “And it is all over, Richard?” “All over, Ira; and he is dead; and she is mad for ever, I fear.” “Is it not better so? O, my dear! if she should live to realise what she had done!” “I hope she will die.” “It is best to hope it.” “Everything shall be best now--now that I have you again. I have been afraid, Ira.” “Afraid of what, Richard?” “I had not heard from you for so long. I was troubled.” “Troubled?” “I imagined things. My mind has been in such a state.” “What things, bad boy? Poor, poor little fellow! There! he shall be told the worst at once and get it over. Miss Christmas, sir, has been offered a husband by her guardian.” “What husband?” “O, not you, sir--don’t think it. It is Lord Sycamore. He is very tall, and very silly, but only fairly well off; and he has no roof to his mouth, or to his head--I forget which; but anyhow, if it was the dome of St Paul’s, I shouldn’t want him.” “I should hope not. And Lord Skene thinks to impose this ass on you?” “Richard, don’t shout so. Yes; and he is enormously angry over my refusal.” “I owe a debt to my grandfather for it. He seems determined to add to my obligations to him. And Lady Skene, Ira?” She answered very softly, the dew of love in her eyes: