"Now wheel my writing-desk forward," said the countess, as she sipped

her wine.

The order was obeyed.

"And now," continued the lady, as she replaced the glass and opened her

desk, "pack up my wardrobe and jewels, and your own clothes. Order the

carriage to be at the door at eight o'clock, to take us to Baymouth. We

leave Baymouth for New York to-morrow morning, and New York for

Liverpool next Saturday."

"Now, glory be to Heaven for that, my lady; and I wish it had been years

ago instead of to-day!" joyfully exclaimed the girl, as she went about

her business.

"And so do I! And so do I, with all my heart and soul!" thought

Berenice, as she arranged her papers and took up a pen to write. In an

instant she laid it down again, and arose and walked restlessly up and

down the floor, wringing her hands, and muttering to herself: "And this is the man for whose sake I sacrificed home, friends, country,

and the most splendid prospects that ever dazzled the imagination of

woman! This is the man whom I have loved and watched and prayed for, all

these long years, hoping against hope, and believing against knowledge.

If he had ceased to love me, grown tired of me, and wished to be rid of

me, could he not have told me so, frankly, from the first? It would have

been less cruel than to have inflicted on me this long anguish of

suspense! less cowardly than to have attempted to justify his desertion

of me by a charge of crime! What crime--he knows no more than I do! Oh,

Herman! Herman! how could you fall so low? But I will not reproach you

even in my thoughts. But I must, I must forget you!"

She returned to her desk, sat down and took up her pen; but again she

dropped it, bowed her head upon her desk, and wept: "Oh, Herman! Herman! must I never hope to meet you again? never look

into your dark eyes, never clasp your hand, or hear your voice again?

never more? never more! Must mine be the hand that writes our sentence

of separation? I cannot! oh! I cannot do it, Herman! And yet!--it is you

who require it!"

After a few minutes she took up his letter and read it over for the

fourth time. Its ruthless implacability seemed to give her the strength

necessary to obey its behests. As if fearing another failure of her

resolution, she wrote at once: "Brudenell Hall, December 30, 18-"Mr. Brudenell: Your letter has relieved me from an embarrassing

position. I beg your pardon for having been for so long a period an

unconscious usurper of your premises. I had mistaken this place for

my husband's house and my proper home. My mistake, however, has not

extended to the appropriation of the revenues of the estate. You

will find every dollar of those placed to your credit in the

Planters' Bank of Baymouth. My mistake has been limited to the

occupancy of the house. For that wrong I shall make what reparation

remains in my power. I shall leave this place this Friday evening;

see your solicitors on Monday; place in their hands a sum

equivalent to the full value of Brudenell Hall, as a compensation

to you for my long use of the house; and then sign whatever

documents may be necessary to renounce all claim upon yourself and

your estate, and to free you forever from "Berenice, Countess of Hurstmonceux."




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