’’Pretend to hate! nay, there is no pretense, I hate, detest, and loathe her; not because she betrayed me; not because she stained an honorable name; not because she made me kill her lover; not because she has ruined my happiness; but because knowing—­feeling all this, and more than words have power to convey—­because knowing her infamy and shame, I still, still love her.’

‘’You love her still!’ cried Arthur.  ’Oh! thanks for that one avowal; that explains fully the bitterness with which you calumniate her.’

’’Calumniate her! oh! that were impossible for the very basest fiend to do.  But I was wrong to desecrate the word, and say I love her.  No, no; I tell you I hate her, I loathe her; but in spite of hatred, in spite of loathing, she exercises over my imagination an irresistible fascination—­a fascination you can never feel in that intensity which haunts my dreams of early manhood.  You knew her not a guileless, artless girl just blooming into early maidenhood.  But enough of these maddening memories of the past.  It were better, doubtless, that I never see her more, for in my hatred I might kill her.  But mark you, Arthur, I will find my child; she is now the only tie that binds me to humanity; the only link that chains me to this mortal coil which men call life.  I must have my darling child.  The day after to-morrow I will return here to know where she is secreted; if that be divulged to me, I swear by all that men hold as sacred, whether in heaven or earth, to depart in peace, and leave you to your fate, and Adele to the vengeance of the Most High.  Adieu.’

‘’Farewell.  You shall be told all that you require,’ said my neighbor.

‘’Oh! excuse me,’ said Percival, returning, ’where does this door lead to?’

‘’To some room to which I have never had access.’

‘’Occupied by whom?’

‘’I do not know.’

’A violent blow, which we had not expected, was given on the door, close to which we were standing, listening.  I instantly retreated to my bed.  Adele remained motionless as a statue; and when the second blow fell upon the panels, I cried out most lustily: 

‘’Who the deuce is there?’ mingling therewith, moreover, sundry forcible Spanish expletives.

‘’No one.  Excuse me, Senor, I mistook the door.’

‘’Well, clear out, and don’t do it again!’ I retorted.

‘’Please show me the way out of this house, Mr. Livermore,’ was all we heard, until after a painful pause the street-door was closed, and Arthur’s footstep sounded returning up-stairs.  I looked fixedly at my companion; her face wore a deathlike pallor, but a soft, melancholy smile played upon her lips.

‘’Poor Edmund!’ said she, in a sad, soft tone, ’despite the wrongs I have endured at his hands, the jealousy he has now evinced is such a proof of his undying love, that I am almost constrained to forgive his former cruelty.’  Adele gave vent to a sigh, and added, with downcast eyes: