"This is a mere phantasm of the brain," said he at length, attempting
to regain his composure; "the coinage of a lively imagination which
loves to deceive itself by--but no," continued he, observing her
incredulous and agonized expression of countenance, "no, my Helen, I
will not longer rack thy generous mind by these sufferings, however
bitter the truth may be to utter or to hear. Helen! it was no
vision--no idle dream,--Helen, it was a living form, a breathing
curse to thee and me! Thou who hast accused me of insensibility to
thy charms, and to thine endearing affection, judge of the strength
of my love by the labyrinth of sin into which it hath betrayed me.
Helen, my wife still lives, and I am not thy lawful husband."

It was many hours before the unfortunate Lady Greville sufficiently
recovered her composure to understand and feel the full extent of
the fatal intelligence she had received, and the immediate bearing
it must have upon her happiness, her rights, and those of her child.
As by degrees the full measure of her misery unfolded to her
comprehension, she fell into no paroxysm of angry grief; she vented
her despair in no revilings against the guilty Greville.
Sorrowfully indeed, but calmly, she requested to be made acquainted
with the whole extent of her miserable destiny.

"Let me know the worst," said she, "I have been long, too long
deceived, and the only mercy you can now bestow upon me is an
unreserved and unqualified confidence."

But Lord Greville could not trust himself to make so painful a
communication in words, and after passing the night in writing, he
delivered to her the following relation:--