"Husband," she whispered, as their lips met, "I have been sacrificed to others, but I never loved but you, and I will love you till I die." And she spoke the truth. "Wife!"--he called that sacred name in a low and softened voice,--"let the past be forgotten. Arisen from the graves of our past lives, it is our part to begin life anew." And his tone was that of truth and enthusiasm. "My son!"--Tarleton started forward and clasped Nameless by the hand,--"Gulian, my son, let the past be forgotten,--forgiven, and let us look only to the future! The proudest aspiration of my life is fulfilled!" Nameless returned his grasp with a cordial pressure; but at the same instant a singular sensation crept like a chill through his blood. Was the presence of the dead father near at the moment when his son joined hands with the false brother? "Here, my boy," continued Tarleton, laughingly, as he spread forth upon the table the roll of paper which he had held to his lip; "sign this, and we will bid you good night. It's a mere matter of form, you know. Nay, Frank, you must not see it; you women know nothing of these matters of business." Motioning his daughter back, he placed pen and ink before Nameless, and then quietly arranged his dark whiskers and smoothed his black hair; and yet his hand trembled. Nameless took the pen, and bent over the table and read:-- DECEMBER 24, 1844. TO DR. MARTIN FULMER:-- _This day I transfer and assign to my wife, Frances Van Huyden, all my right, title, and interest in the estate of my deceased father, Gulian Van Huyden; and hereby promise, on my word of honor, to hold this transfer sacred at all times, and to make it binding (if requested), by a document drawn up according to the forms of law._ Nameless dipped the pen in the ink, and was about to sign, when Frank suddenly drew the paper from beneath his hand. She read it with a kindling cheek and flashing eye. "For shame!" she cried, turning to her father, "for shame!" and was about to rend it in twain, when Nameless seized her wrist, and took the paper from her hand. "Nay, Frank, I will sign," he exclaimed, and put the pen to the paper. "O, father," whispered Frank, with a glance of burning indignation, "this is too much--" Her words were interrupted by the sudden opening of the door. "Is there no way of escape,--none?"--a voice was heard exclaiming these words, in tones of fright and madness,--"Is there no way of escape from this abode of ruin and death?" The pen dropped from the hand of Nameless. That voice congealed the blood in his veins. Turning his head over his shoulders, he saw the speaker,--while the whole scene swam for a moment before his eyes,--saw that young countenance, now wild with affright, on which was imprinted the stainless beauty of a pure and virgin soul.