have a right to do so. I must have you as my own. Come away with me. Come to any part of England, where you will, where we are not known, where our names have never been heard, and we will be properly married in a church, and live together happily the rest of our lives. As for your mother, she is failing fast. I will wait till her death, or we can take her away at once with us."
"Oh, George, George!" Mehalah's tones were those of one in acute pain. She flung herself on the ground at his feet, and clasped her hands on her brow.
He looked at her with some surprise: "This will be a change for the better. You will escape out of darkness into sunshine, and leave all your miseries in this hateful marsh behind your back."
"George! George!" she moaned.
"Elijah deserves not a thought," he went on, "He had behaved like a villain from beginning to end, and if he is served out now, no one will pity him."
"It is impossible, George!" exclaimed Mehalah, lifting herself on her knees and holding her knitted lingers against her heart. "It cannot be, George. It never can be. There is another tie that I cannot break."
"What tie?"
"I must own it, though it steep me in shame. It was I, George, who blinded him; I in mad fear and anger mingled, not knowing what I did, poured the vitriol over his eye."
George De Witt drew back from her.
"Glory! how dreadful!"
"It is dreadful, but it was done without premeditation. He had me in his arms and told me what he had done to you"—she corrected herself—"what he pretended he had done to you, and then he tried to kiss me, and in a moment of loathing and effort to escape I did the deed. I did not know what was in the bottle, I did not know what I laid hold of."
"You are a dangerous person to deal with, Glory. I should be sorry to provoke you. I do not understand you."
"I suppose you do not," she said, with a sob; "but you must see this, George. I have blinded him and made
