She burst into a hysterical flood of tears, and clung to him like some terrified child to its only friend in the whole wide world. [Illustration: Flora clings to Charles.] “Oh, my dear friends,” cried Charles Holland, “do not deceive me; has Flora been ill?” “We have all been ill,” said George. “All ill?” “Ay, and nearly mad,” exclaimed Harry. Holland looked from one to the other in surprise, as well he might, nor was that surprise at all lessened when Flora made an effort to extricate herself from his embrace, as she exclaimed,— “You must leave me—you must leave me, Charles, for ever! Oh! never, never look upon my face again!” “I—I am bewildered,” said Charles. “Leave me, now,” continued Flora; “think me unworthy; think what you will, Charles, but I cannot, I dare not, now be yours.” “Is this a dream?” “Oh, would it were. Charles, if we had never met, you would be happier—I could not be more wretched.” “Flora, Flora, do you say these words of so great cruelty to try my love?” “No, as Heaven is my judge, I do not.” “Gracious Heaven, then, what do they mean?” Flora shuddered, and Henry, coming up to her, took her hand in his tenderly, as he said,— “Has it been again?” “It has.” “You shot it?” “I fired full upon it, Henry, but it fled.” “It did—fly?” “It did, Henry, but it will come again—it will be sure to come again.” “You—you hit it with the bullet?” interposed Mr. Marchdale. “Perhaps you killed it?” “I think I must have hit it, unless I am mad.” Charles Holland looked from one to the other with such a look of intense surprise, that George remarked it, and said at once to him,— “Mr. Holland, a full explanation is due to you, and you shall have it.” “You seem the only rational person here,” said Charles. “Pray what is it that everybody calls ‘_it_?’” “Hush—hush!” said Henry; “you shall hear soon, but not at present.” “Hear me, Charles,” said Flora. “From this moment mind, I do release you from every vow, from every promise made to me of constancy and love; and if you are wise, Charles, and will be advised, you will now this moment leave this house never to return to it.” “No,” said Charles—“no; by Heaven I love you, Flora! I have come to say again all that in another clime I said with joy to you. When I forget you, let what trouble may oppress you, may God forget me, and my own right hand forget to do me honest service.” “Oh! no more—no more!” sobbed Flora. “Yes, much more, if you will tell me of words which shall be stronger than others in which to paint my love, my faith, and my constancy.” “Be prudent,” said Henry. “Say no more.” “Nay, upon such a theme I could speak for ever. You may cast me off, Flora; but until you tell me you love another, I am yours till the death, and then with a sanguine hope at my heart that we shall meet again, never, dearest, to part.” Flora sobbed bitterly. “Oh!” she said, “this is the unkindest blow of all—this is worse than all.” “Unkind!” echoed Holland.