“Leonora!” he exclaimed, “my one, only Darling! Come to me and lay your cheek on mine! Whatever you were, whatever you did, you are still the same to me--the peerless, beautiful bride, whom I held to my heart during so many blissful years! Do you remember the villa down in Parma, to which I took you for our honeymoon, Leonora? Do you recall the happy evening that we were first man and wife--how we wandered into the gardens, and sat down on a bank, covered with delicious violets whose breath intoxicated us with pleasure. You cast yourself across my knees, and laid your lovely head upon my breast--then I seemed to realise, for the first time, that you were all my own. Our lips met--I drank in your sweet breath, sweeter than the violets upon which we sat--and we mutually trembled with the ecstasy of the contact. Ah! Leonora, my dearest, that was twenty-five long weary years ago! I am an old man now, but I have never forgotten--I never shall forget! Come once more and press your sweet lips to mine as you did in that unforgotten moment, and I shall be rewarded for all the efforts I have made--the sacrifice I have gone through--in order to draw you once more to my heart again!” The tantalising face peeped out from the curtain--the lips pouted--but as Ricardo drew near to kiss her, Leonora darted like an arrow into the cabinet and evaded him. It was like the cup of Tantalus, ever presented, brimming with sparkling liquid, only to be withdrawn as soon as approached. The Professor breathed a heart-felt sigh as he leaned against the curtain, to see if he could hear any movement going on behind it. But all was still as the grave! “My wife--my wife----” moaned the unhappy man, “speak to me, if you cannot touch me. I feel the reason. My contact is too earthly for you, pure as you have become!--the hands that slew you are too foul to clasp with yours. But tell me--Leonora! I am hanging on your words--tell me the whole truth. You know I could not be angry with you now! _Were you guilty with Centi?_” The mobile face again appeared round a corner of the curtain, and the rosy lips murmured, “No!” “_No?_ O! my God! then I am a murderer of the deepest dye! I have slain my other half--she, whom I had sworn to love and cherish! What Hell will be deep enough for me? What devil urged me on to strike that fatal blow? Heavens! I can see it now, your pallid, startled face--the crimson blood that stained your white breast--that issued from your livid lips--can hear the sigh with which your pure spirit took wing, to bear witness against me before the Throne! O! Leonora, my wife! my angel! say that you forgive my rash act--my unfounded jealousy!” The Spirit again appeared, and nodded its head solemnly. “I knew you would forgive, dear Angel, who were so much too good for such a wretch as I am, but will Heaven forgive? that is the question? Shall I join you wherever you may be? Shall we be lovers and friends again in the Eternal World?”