not daring to raise my eyes to her face—"that man is not your husband: in the sight of Heaven he has forfeited all claim to—" She seized my arm with a grasp of startling energy.
"Gilbert, don't!" she cried, in a tone that would have pierced a heart of adamant. "For God's sake, don't you attempt these arguments! No fiend could torture me like this!"
"I won't, I won't!" said I, gently laying my hand on hers; almost as much alarmed at her vehemence, as ashamed of my own misconduct.
"Instead of acting like a true friend," continued she, breaking from me and throwing herself into the old arm chair—"and helping me with all your might—or rather taking your own part in the struggle of right against passion—you leave all the burden to me;—and not satisfied with that, you do your utmost to fight against me—when you know that I ——" she paused, and hid her face in her handkerchief.
"Forgive me, Helen!" pleaded I, "I will never utter another word on the subject. But may we not still meet as friends?"
