Year: 1865

month, ana SuppOeeu Iuey Wot0 0osOs
ing slowly to avoid fatigue. On the DAY
FIVE weeks after I had received the last let
ter, I was sitting alone, rather late in the
evening, when q quick step sounded in the
road outside, and Stephen came to the
gate, opened it, entered the house, and sat
down in silence. He was dressed as usual,
and looked tired and travel-stained; but
there was no sorrow in his face, and felt
sure that Marian must be safe. asked
him where she was. He said she was not
with him.


Shave you left her in Italy ?" l asked.


"She is dead" be answered, without q
shadow of emotion.


"How? Where?" Twas beginning to
question him, but he stopped me.


"Give me something to eat and drink, y
he said; 81 have walked from London,
and want to sleep"


/ brought him what he wanted. He
bade me good night; and as l saw he
wished it, left him and went to bed, full
of grief but even more OF wonder that he,
who truly loved his wife if ever man did,
could speak of her, not month after her
death, without his voice faltering or his
face changing in the least.


"To morrow will solve the question:" I
said to myself, as weary with crying, I
felt sleep coming over me. But to-mor-
row did not solve the question. He told
me as before, without emotion, what he
wished me to know, and from that mo-
ment we spoke no more on the subject.
In every respect but this he was my own
Stephen of old-as kind and thoughtful as
ever, only altered by rather absent and
abstracted manner. Thought at first that
he was stunned by his loss, and would re-
alize more painfully afterwards but
months passed on without change. He
used Marians chair, or things of her work,
or sat opposite to her drawings, without
seeming to notice them; indeed, it was as
if she dropped out of his life entirely, and
left him as he was before he knew her.
The only difference was, that he, natural
lya man of sedentary habits, took great
deal of exercise, and knew that he kept
laudanum in his bedroom.


At this time my lover was pressing me
to marry him, and with much difficulty I
consented to tell Stephen about it, though
I had no intention of leaving him. To my
surprise, he seemed pleased. I told him
that l would never leave him alone, not
for all the husbands in the world; but he
would not hear me.


II think it is your duty to marry him,
Margaret" I" he said, "you love him and
have taught him to love you, and you
have no right to sacrifice him to me-"


"My first duty is to you, Stephen. I
will not leave You alone"


81 see that / must explain to you," he
said, after pause. when you leave eme
l shall not be alone"


"Who will be with you?" asked,
wondering.


"Marian."


I started as if l had been shot, for
thought he must surely be mad but he
continued quite calmly and as usual with
out emotion.


"She died at mid day. Till night l did
not know what ] did. felt stunned and
broken and dying myself; but at last,
worn out as l was with watching and sit
ting up, / fell asleep; and by Gods mercy
she came to me in my dreams, and told me
to be comforted. The next night she
came again, and from that time to this has
never failed me. Then l felt that it was
my duty to live; that if my life was value
less to myself, it was not so to you. So I
came home. dare say it is only freak
of my Imagination. Perhaps / even
produce an illusion by a great ef-
fort of my will; but however that is,
it has saved me from going mad or kill
ing myself. How does she come? Al
ways as she was in the first summer that
We spent here, or in our early time in TIA
ly; always cheerful and beautiful, always
alone, always dressed rs she used to, talk
ing as she used to ta!h-not an angel, but
herself Sometimes we 60 through q
whole day of pleasure, sometimes she only
comes and goes; but no night has ever
yet been without her, and indeed l think
that her visits are longer and dearer az
draw nearer to her side again. l some
times ask myself which of my two lives is
the real one. ] ask myself now, and can
not answer. / should think that the other
was, if it were not that while am in this
I recollect the other, and while am in
the other / know nothing beyond. And
this is why my sorrow is not like that of
others in my position. know that no
night will pass without my seeing her tor
my health is good enough and I never fail
to sleep. Sleeplessness is the only ear thly
evil I dread, now you are provided for.
Do not think me hard to you in not hay-
ing told You this before. It is too sacred
a thing to be spoken of without necessity.
Now write to your husband that is to be,
and tell him to come here.",


did so, and the preparations for my
marriage began. Stephen was very kind !;
but bis thoughts wandered further and
further every day. spoke to doctor, a
friend of his, about him, but it seemed that
nothing really allied him. ] longed, almost
to pain, to ask him more about Marian !;