"I implore, I entreat you, Miss Brandon, to see me, if but for a moment. I purpose to tear myself away from the place in which you reside—to go abroad—to leave even the spot hallowed by your footstep. After this night, my presence, my presumption, will degrade you no more. But this night, for mercy's sake, see me, or I shall go mad! I will but speak to you one instant, this is all I ask. If you grant me this prayer, the walk to the left where you stand, at the entrance to which there is one purple lamp, will afford an opportunity to your mercy. A few yards down that walk I will meet you—none can see or hear us. Will you grant this? I know not—I dare not think—but under any case, your name shall be the last upon my lips."
As Lucy read this hurried scrawl, she glanced towards the lamp above her, and saw that she had accidentally entered the very walk indicated in the note. She paused—she hesitated;—the impropriety—the singularity of the request darted
