"And whether I do or not, girl, is it you I must make my confessor? No, never. It is a matter which concerns you not at all. Whether my heart be black as hate, or pure as an angel's pinion, I lay it bare to no one. Whatever my feelings or intent in this matter, they are my own."
"Not so, Bernard. If ambition has prompted you to gain her affections, if love of wealth has sent you a wooer at that shrine, having in your breast no faithful heart to bestow in return for hers, let me beg, let me implore you, to stop where you are. Be merciful, compare the home which you can give, to the home from whence you take her. Compare the happiness which you can bestow to that of which you rob her, and feel, that if you take her, with all this, to a loveless breast, you take her to misery, to desolation, and death!"
"Do you deem me a villain, woman?"
"What you have been, you may be again."
Wilkins mused a moment; then, in a softer and more subdued tone, said:-
"No, no; oh no! God only knows-but never that to her, oh never!"
"Bernard! my mistress is dear to me; her happiness more sacred to me than my own. If I believed that you would ever play her false, if I believed that a sinister motive led you to accomplish this end, as I stand before you here, I would expose you as you are. I would lay bare to her the secrets of the past. I would warn her to recall the love which she has lavished on you, though the next hour should be my last, in consequence. Her happiness shall never be wrecked while I have the slightest power to guide it clear from danger."
With his impetuous spirit growing calm, as Minny became more excited, Wilkins looked upon her, as she confronted him, with her soul in her face, and his eyes kindled with the admiration his impulsive but generous heart could not but feel.
"Most nobly spoken, Minny!" he exclaimed, earnestly, "and now, as Heaven hears, let me speak what I feel is truth. Minny, there is a first love, a wavering, flickering, effervescing sentiment of youthful hearts, faithful and enduring in some instances, but not in mine, and this, God forgive me, I gave to you. True, I believed then I could never change; but the change came, with the exhalation of my heart's first passion, and though I never hated, I found I could no longer love you. Our marriage was illegal; I did not know it when it took place, but I learned it afterwards, when my love had chilled, and with perhaps a cruel, but a just hand, Minny, just to us both, I severed the cord which had bound us so sweetly, and our parted hearts drifted out of each other's sight, on the billows of life's ocean."
"Aye, Bernard, the one, a torn and shattered wreck, cast helpless on the desolate shores of sorrow and despair; the other, strong and uninjured, floating away to new and pleasant places, with only the shadow of a sad memory following it."
"Too true, Minny, too true! alas for the restless impulses of my misguided spirit. Alas for the trusting hopefulness of thine. But, Minny, as I stand before you now, with my whole heart open to your sight, I can most truly declare, that my love for Della is all that you would have it. She is trusting and innocent. I will never blight the one, or betray the other. I will hold her to my strong heart as some tender flower, which needs protection from a wintry blast, and from the world's cold breath; I will shield and guard, and cherish her with my life. God help me so to do!"
"Amen, Bernard, amen!"
"Minny, are you satisfied?"
"Yes! my heart trusts you once again. Even more hopeful for its trust for another, than even for itself."
"Bless you, Minny; and now 'tis time your anxious heart found rest. I will see you safe to your own gate, and then good-night."
Minny suffered Wilkins to draw her hand within his arm, and lead her forth once more beneath the starry skies. They walked on silently, each engrossed with their own reflections, with only the occasional interruption of the watchman, or the rattle of some noisy vehicle, hastening along the stony streets. Minny at last stopped at the entrance of the vacant court, leading to the secret garden door. As she was about to withdraw her hand from his arm, Wilkins retained it, firmly, yet respectfully, in his own.
"I have been thinking, Minny, more deeply than I ever thought before, of the great wrong which I have done you. The time may never come again when we shall meet as to-night we've met, and before we part, I must hear your lips pronounce my forgiveness."
"From the bottom of my heart, Bernard, I forgive you all that you may ever have done to me; either in word, or thought, or deed."
"I have been a wretch, Minny."
"But," continued the girl, without heeding the interruption, and speaking in an earnest, thrilling tone, "by the Heaven that is above us both, Bernard, I here swear, that if you are ever cold or cruel to the new bride you are winning, as true as there's a heart in my bosom, I will be her avenger-mark my words; though I should have to follow you to the ends of the earth, that revenge shall be mine."
A moment of silence ensued, and Minny stood like a breathing statue of retribution, with her glittering eyes fixed upon the face before her.
"Ah, Minny, the chill breath of desertion and sorrow has extinguished the last spark of affection which once glowed in your breast for me, or you could never speak thus. But fear not; your young mistress shall be to me as the apple of my eye, even as the core of my heart."
"Enough, enough. Good-night."
"Stay, Minny; can you learn to think of me kindly; and, in coming days, to witness my affection for another unshrinkingly?"
"I have already learned to do so."
"And you will not let these gloomy visions of the past rise up between you and the far-off stars?"
"Never again, never again."
He pressed the trembling hand he held between his own, and touched it to his lips.
It was drawn quickly from him; a stifled sob fell upon his ear, and he stood alone.
Slowly he turned his steps homewards, and with every echo of his solitary footfall, with every sob of the passing night-wind, came back upon his troubled heart, with thrilling sadness, Minny's last mournful words, "Never again, never again!"
Again he reached the store, and the lock, obedient to the ponderous key, turned noiselessly, and Wilkins entered. It was dark and gloomy, and a chill passed over him as he fastened the door, and groped his way along between the deserted counters. The scene through which he had just passed had called up bitter and unpleasant memories, and there came over him a sense of lonely desolation, such as he could not endure to experience. He stopped a moment as he reached the high desk, and stood there, silent and thoughtful.
"I will go to him," he muttered; "there is something holy in his presence, which will make me happier."
With cautious steps he mounted the winding stairs, and sought the room where Guly lay. The moment he approached the bedside, the boy started from his restless pillow.
"Arthur, is it you?"
"It is me, Guly," returned Wilkins, in a low voice.
"You! and you come without him?"
"I come alone, Guly."
"And has anything happened-oh! do not keep it from me! Is Arthur hurt? What brings you here, Wilkins, if it is not that?"
"I came here, Guly, with my own troubled heart, to look upon you as you slept, and to go away happier. I have no news, either good or bad, of poor Arthur."
Guly was silent a moment, then taking Wilkins' hand, he said:-
"I cannot tell you how much I thank you for the long and dreary walk you have taken for my sake. Some day I hope to be able to repay your kindness."
"Don't mention it, Guly; a mere trifle."
"It was a great deal to me; and now, Wilkins, would you just as soon lie down by me as to sleep in your own bed? It must be nearly morning, but this is a gloomy place to lie in alone, with only a troubled heart for company."