"Yet we met once, in the bowels of the earth; and, were we to part now, our fates would fling us together again in a desert, on a mountain-top, or in whatever spot seemed safest.

You speak in vain, therefore." "You mistake your own will for an iron necessity," said Miriam; "otherwise, you might have suffered me to glide past you like a ghost, when we met among those ghosts of ancient days.

Even now you might bid me pass as freely." "Never!" said he, with unmitigable will; "your reappearance has destroyed the work of years.

You know the power that I have over you.
Obey my bidding; or, within a short time, it shall be exercised: nor will I cease to haunt you till the moment comes." "Then," said Miriam more calmly, "I foresee the end, and have already warned you of it.

It will be death!" "Your own death, Miriam,--or mine ?" he asked, looking fixedly at her.
"Do you imagine me a murderess ?" said she, shuddering; "you, at least, have no right to think me so!" "Yet," rejoined he, with a glance of dark meaning, "men have said that this white hand had once a crimson stain." He took her hand as he spoke, and held it in his own, in spite of the repugnance, amounting to nothing short of agony, with which she struggled to regain it.