letter perceive how much she is terrified by the thought of your
discovering her. She has, at length, recovered peace of mind and
tranquillity of conscience. She shrinks with dread from the prospect of
ever again encountering one once so dear, now associated in her mind with
recollections of guilt and sorrow. More than this, she is sensitively
alive to the fear of shame, to the dread of detection. If ever her
daughter were to know her sin, it would be to her as a death-blow. Yet
in her nervous state of health, her ever-quick and uncontrollable
feelings, if you were to meet her, she would disguise nothing, conceal
nothing. The veil would be torn aside: the menials in her own house
would tell the tale, and curiosity circulate, and scandal blacken the
story of her early errors. No, Maltravers, at least wait awhile before
you see her; wait till her mind can be prepared for such an interview,
till precautions can be taken, till you yourself are in a calmer state of
mind."

Maltravers fixed his piercing eyes on Lumley while he thus spoke, and
listened in deep attention.

"It matters not," said he, after a long pause, "whether these be your
real reasons for wishing to defer or prevent a meeting between Alice and
myself. The affliction that has come upon me bursts with too clear and
scorching a blaze of light for me to see any chance of escape or
mitigation. Even if Evelyn were the daughter of Alice by another, she
would be forever separated from me. The mother and the child! there is a
kind of incest even in that thought! But such an alleviation of my
anguish is forbidden to my reason. No, poor Alice, I will not disturb
the repose thou hast won at last! Thou shalt never have the grief to
know that our error has brought upon thy lover so black a doom! All is
over! the world never shall find me again. Nothing is left for me but