Whether  his  hatred  of  me  had  had  any  share  in  his  desire
to  possess  her,  I  hardly  thought  of  inquiring.
Of  course  I  did  not  for  a  single  moment  believe  that  Mary
had  had  the  slightest  notion  of  the  bitterness,  the  torture,  the
temptation  of  Satan  it  would  be  to  me.  Doubtless  the  feeling
of  her  father  concerning  the  death  of  Charley  had  seemed  to
hollow  an  impassable  gulf  between  us.  Worn  and  weak,  and
not  knowing  what  she  did,  my  dearest  friend  had  yielded  her-
self to  the  embrace  of  my  deadliest  foe.  If  he  was  such  as  I
had  too  good  reason  for  believing  him,  she  was  far  more  to  be
pitied  than  I.  Lonely  she  must  be — lonely  as  I — for  who  was
there  to  understand  and  love  her  ?  Bitterly  too  by  this  time
she  must  have  suffered,  for  the  dove  can  never  be  at  peace  in
the  bosom  of  the  vulture,  or  cease  to  hate  the  carrion  of
which  he  must  ever  carry  about  with  him  at  least  tne  disgust-
ing memorials.  Alas !  I  too  had  been  her  enemy,  and  had
cried  out  against  her ;  but  now  I  would  love  her  more  and
better  than  ever!  Oh!  if  I  knew  but  something  I  could  do
for  her,  some  service  which  on  the  bended  knees  of  my  spirit
I  might  offer  her!  I  clomb  the  heights  of  my  grie;",  and
looked  abroad,  but  alas !  I  was  such  a  poor  creature !  A  dab-
bler in  the  ways  of  the  world,  a  writer  of  tales  which  even
those  who  cared  to  read  them  counted  fantastic  and  Utopian,
who  was  I  to  weave  a  single  silken  thread  into  the  web  of  her


462  WILFRID   CUMBERMEDE.
