me.  I would gladly have cast you off long ago, if I had had but the shadow of a pretext.  I am to be married to a beautiful woman in America, before many months shall elapse—­a woman with a name and a fortune which will help me pay those cursed debts that are dragging me down like a millstone.  For you I have no further use.  You complain that our unborn child will be disgraced, unless I go through the mockery of marriage with you.  There is no disgrace in the grave—­and I consign you to its dreamless sleep!’ The next moment the boat was capsized, and I was floating in the water.  I cried aloud his name, beseeching him to save me, and got only his mocking laugh in return, as he struck out for the shore.  I could not swim, and I felt myself sinking down—­down to unfathomable depths.  I felt cold as ice; there was a deafening roar in my ears, and I knew no more.”

“My poor Arabel, I could curse the villain who did this cowardly thing, but he is dead, and in the hands of God.”

“When I woke to consciousness, I was lying in a rude cottage, and two persons, unknown to me—­a man and a woman—­were bending over me, applying hot flannels to my numbed limbs, and restoratives to my lips.  Before morning my child was born; but it never opened its eyes on this world.  Death took it away.  I had some articles of jewelry on my person, of some considerable value, and with these I bribed the persons who had taken me from the river to cause Mr. Linmere to believe that I had died.  They were rough people, but they were kind-hearted, and I owe them a large debt of gratitude for their thoughtful care of me.  But for it, I should have died in reality.  As soon as I was able to bear the journey, I left France.  Linmere had already closed the cottage and gone away—­none knew whither; but I was satisfied he had departed for the United States.  I left France with no feeling of regret, save for Leo, my faithful hound.  I have shed many bitter tears, when pondering over the probable fate of my poor dog.”

“Be easy on that subject, Arabel.  I saw the hound but a few weeks ago.  He is the property of a lady who loves him—­the woman Paul Linmere was to have married, if he had lived.”

“I am glad.  You may laugh at me, Louis, but the uncertain fate of Leo has given me great unhappiness.  But to continue—­I engaged myself as nursemaid with an English family, who had been traveling on the continent, and were about returning home.  I remained with them until I had accumulated sufficient funds to defray my expenses across the Atlantic, and then I set out on my journey.  I came to New York, for that had been Mr. Linmere’s home before we went to France.  I soon got upon the track of him, and learned that he was about to be married to a Miss Margaret Harrison, a young lady of great beauty, and with a large fortune.  I wanted to see her; for you must know that I had registered a fearful vow of vengeance on Mr. Paul Linmere, and I desired to judge for myself if it would fall heavily on the woman he was going to marry.  For even violently as I had loved him I now hated him.