"Basil, what man? Tell me; for no doubt shall stand between us now!"

She grasped my arm, and her rapid words were a command.

I only answered, "Alfred Vaughan."

Effie covered up her face, crying, as she sank down at my feet,--

"Oh, my fear! my fear! Why was I blind so long?"

I felt her grief to my heart's core; for my own anguish made me pitiful,
and my love made me strong. I lifted up that drooping head and laid it
down where it might never rest again, saying, gently, cheerily, and with
a most sincere forgetfulness of self,--

"My wife, I never cherished a harsh thought of you, never uttered a
reproach when your affections turned from a cold, neglectful guardian,
to find a tenderer resting-place. I saw your struggles, dear, your
patient grief, your silent sacrifice, and honored you more truly than I
can tell. Effie, I robbed you of your liberty, but I will restore it,
making such poor reparation as I can for this long year of pain;
and when I see you blest in a happier home, my keen remorse will be
appeased."

As I ceased, Effie rose erect and stood before me, transformed from a
timid girl into an earnest woman. Some dormant power and passion woke;
she turned on me a countenance aglow with feeling, soul in the eye,
heart on the lips, and in her voice an energy that held me mute.