appearance has destroyed the work of years. You know the power that I have over you. Obey my bidding; or, within a short time, it shall be exercised: nor will I cease to haunt you till the moment comes."
"Then," said Miriam, more calmly, "I foresee the end, and have already warned you of it. It will be death!"
"Your own death, Miriam—or mine?" he asked, looking fixedly at her.
"Do you imagine me a murderess?" said she, shuddering "you, at least, have no right to think me so!"
"Yet," rejoined he, with a glance of dark meaning, "men have said that this white hand had once a crimson stain." He took her hand as he spoke, and held it in his own, in spite of the repugnance, amounting to nothing short of agony, with which she struggled to regain it. Holding it up to the fading light (for there was already dimness among the trees), he appeared to examine it closely, as if to discover the imaginary bloodstain with which he taunted her. He smiled as he let it go. "It looks very white," said he, "but I have known hands as white, which all the water in the ocean would not have washed clean."
"It had no stain," retorted Miriam, bitterly, "until you grasped it in your own."
The wind has blown away whatever else they may have spoken.
They went together towards the town, and, on their way continued to make reference, no doubt, to some strange and dreadful history of their former life, belong-
