to tell me this. You think I can endure it?" "We will not endure it," he cried fiercely, breaking from her. "I wish not to speak with severity; but beware, for my whole soul is in agony, and fierce passion domineers: tempt me not to harm you, my beloved: return to your father: I will write—I will see you again" . . . "Oh! leave me not—yet hear me.—I am not guilty—I am innocent—Henry, I am innocent."
Calantha knelt before him, as she spoke:—her tears choaked her voice. "Yet hear me; look at me once; see, see in this face if it bear traces of guilt. Look, Henry. You will not leave me." She fell before him; and knelt at his feet. "Do you remember how you once loved me?" she said, clasping his hand in her's. "Think how dear we have been to each other: and will you now abandon me? Henry, my husband, have you forgotten me? Look at the boy. Is it not your's? Am I not its
