“Nempere is dead!” replied Mountfort, in a voice of deliberate desperation; then, pausing for an instant, he added in an under tone: “And the officers of justice are in pursuit of me. Adieu, Eloise!--Adieu, Fitzeustace! You know I must part with you--you know how unwillingly. My address is at--London.--Adieu!--once again adieu!” Saying this, as by a convulsive effort of despairing energy, he darted from the apartment, and, mounting a horse which stood at the gate, swiftly sped away. Fitzeustace well knew the impossibility of his longer stay; he did not seem surprised, but sighed. “Ah! well I know,” said Eloise, violently agitated, “I well know myself to be the occasion of these misfortunes. Nempere sought for me; the generous Mountfort would not give me up; and now is he compelled to fly--perhaps may not even escape with life. Ah! I fear it is destined that every friend must suffer in the fatality which environs me. Fitzeustace!” she uttered this with such tenderness, that, almost involuntarily, he clasped her hand, and pressed it to his bosom, in the silent, yet expressive enthusiasm of love. “Fitzeustace! you will not likewise desert the poor isolated Eloise?” “Say not isolated, dearest love. Can, can you fear my love, whilst your Fitzeustace exists? Say, adored Eloise, shall we _now_ be united, _never, never_ to part again? Say, will you consent to our immediate union? “Know you not,” exclaimed Eloise, in a low, faltering voice, “know you not that I _have been_ another’s?” “Oh! suppose me not,” interrupted the impassioned Fitzeustace, “the slave of such vulgar and narrow-minded prejudice. Does the frightful vice and ingratitude of Nempere sully the spotless excellence of my Eloise’s soul? No, no,--that must ever continue uncontaminated by the frailty of the body in which it is enshrined. It must rise superior to the earth: ’tis that which I adore, Eloise. Say, say, was _that_ Nempere’s?” “Oh! no, never!” cried Eloise, with energy. “Nothing but _fear_ was Nempere’s.” “Then why say you that ever you were _his_?” said Fitzeustace, reproachfully. “You never _could_ have been his, destined as you were for mine, from the first instant the particles composing the soul which I adore, were assimilated by the God whom I worship.” “Indeed, believe me, dearest Fitzeustace, I love you, far beyond anything existing--indeed, existence were valueless, unless enjoyed with you!”