“What, why do you say that?” she asked, with a startled gleam in her eye. “Do you think I am so eager for ease and enjoyment, that it will be a burden for me to bear the pain of those I love? A past pain, too,” she added, “that will grow less and less as the days go by and happiness increases.” He put her back with a quick hand. “Do not make it any harder for me than necessary,” he entreated, “Do you not see that however gentle may be your judgment of my deserts, we can never marry, Paula?” The eyes which were fixed on his, deepened passionately. “No,” she whispered, “no; not if your remorse for the past is all that separates us. The man who has conquered himself, has won the right to conquer the heart of a woman. I can say no more—” She timidly held out her hand. He grasped it with a man’s impetuosity and pressed it to his heart, but he did not retain it. “Blessings upon you, dear and noble heart!” he cried. “God will hear my prayers and make you happy—but not with me. Paula,” he passionately continued, taking her in his arms and holding her to his breast, “it cannot be. I love you—I will not, dare not say, how much—but love is no excuse for wronging you. My remorse is not all that separates us; possible disgrace lies before me; public exposure at all events; I would indeed be lacking in honor were I to subject you to these.” “But,” she stammered, drawing back to look into his face, “I thought that was all over; that the man had promised silence; that you were henceforth to be relieved from his persecutions? I am sure he said so.” “He did, but he forgot that my fate no longer rested upon his forbearance. The letter which records my admission of sin was in his lawyer’s hands, Paula, and has already been despatched to Mr. Stuyvesant. Say what we will, rebel against it as we will, Cicely’s father knows by this time that the name of Sylvester is not spotless.” The cry which she uttered in her sudden pain and loss made him stoop over her with despairing fondness. “Hush! my darling, hush!” cried he. “The trial is so heavy, I need all my strength to meet it. It breaks my heart to see you grieve. I cannot bear it. I deserve my fate, but you—Oh you—what have you done that you should be overwhelmed in my fall!” Putting her gently away from his breast, he drew himself up and with forced calmness said, “I have yet to inform Mr. Stuyvesant upon which of the Sylvesters’ should rest the shadow of his distrust. To-night he believes in Bertram’s lack of principle, but to-morrow—” Her trembling lips echoed the word. “He shall know that the man who confessed to having done a wrong deed in the past, is myself, Paula.”