"No, Edith!" was his internal oath, "never will I add a thorn to thy pillow—That which Heaven has ordained let it be, and let me not add, by my selfish sorrows; one atom's weight to the burden that thou hast to bear, I was dead to thee when thy resolution was adopted; and never—never shalt thou know that Henry Morton still lives!"
As he formed this resolution, diffident of his own power to keep it, and seeking that firmness in flight which was every moment shaken by his continuing within hearing of Edith's voice, he hastily rushed from his apartment by the little closet and the sashed door which led to the garden.
But firmly as he thought his resolution was fixed, he could not leave the spot where the last tones of a voice so beloved still vibrated on his ear, without endeavouring to avail himself of the opportunity which the parlour window afforded to steal one last glance at the lovely speaker. It was in this attempt, made while Edith
