Week after week she had suffered in silence.
The long-restrained tide of wrong flowed from her lips with a strange, pathetic eloquence; and, as the rector held her hands, his own were wet with her fast-falling tears.

At last she laid her head against his shoulder, and wept as if her heart would break.

"He has been our ruin," she cried, "our evil angel.

He has used Harry's folly and father's goodness and Sophia's love--all of them--for his own selfish ends." "He is a bad one.

He should be hanged, and cheap at it! Hear him, talking of having lived so often! God have mercy! He is not worthy of one life, let alone of two." At this juncture, Julius himself entered the room.