Thorsby gasped, as for breath. He would have spoken, but he could not. He seized the child convulsively, and, bursting into a passion of sobs and tears, covered it with kisses. He sat down, and, bending over it, wept excessively. Letty softly fell on her knees at his feet, laid her hand on his, looked up to him with streaming eyes, and there was a long silence. As the storm of Thorsby’s emotion somewhat subsided, Letty said, “And now, dear Henry, let us go. Let that unhappy girl return to her friends, or be provided for; let her not be cast forth to utter ruin. And for us, let us return to our own home, to a new life, and to constant prayers for unfailing strength to do our duty. Come, come! let us away at once.” “No, Letty, no!” exclaimed Thorsby, with a haggard look; “I can never return. I am a disgraced man. I can never show my face in our own town again. Go! be as happy as you can! I will give you everything; but return—for me—never!” “And yet you _must_ return, dear Henry. I cannot let you go to perdition. I have vowed to take you for better for worse, and I will stand by you to the _very_ worst. Think not of temporary shame—think of your own precious, eternal soul! Think of your child, your mother. Think of me, if you yet—if you ever loved me!” “Loved you!” Thorsby stamped on the ground. “Letty Woodburn, I never loved but you! That name has been my life, my inspiration, my shield, but at last it failed me. Satan was too strong in me. Never, never, can I again pollute you by my presence. I am a God-abandoned man! He has lifted me up only to cast me down beyond redemption. Nothing, nothing, can restore me.” “Remember the prodigal son,” said Letty. “Remember the all, all-forgiving Father. Oh, return, return! and all may yet be well. If you will not return, think! what good shall my life do me? What shall be the sad, awful career of this dear babe without a father—with only the sad, sad story of one! Come, oh, come home. George is here; he will show you how all will forgive and forget.” “George!” exclaimed Thorsby, and seeming inspired with sudden madness; “George! let him not come in—I cannot bear it. If he comes”—he snatched a pistol from a side-table—“if he comes here, I will put this bullet through my brain.” Letty stood terror-stricken. She saw that all hope of inducing him to face his old connections was hopeless. “Put that down,” said Letty, sternly; “you terrify me. George will not come unasked; and if you will not return to Castleborough, I will come and live in London.” “You!” said Thorsby. “You, who love the country so, whose heart has so many ties there!” “I can do it willingly,” said Letty. “I can be very happy with you and dear little Leonard anywhere. My greatest ties are here.” “It cannot be,” said Thorsby, assuming an awful look. “Angels of light and devils cannot dwell together. I say, once for all, go, and leave me to my fate, or I will end it on this spot.”