—Give me the letters, my love," she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; "they're some wicked forgeries. “You were really at Moulton House,” she exclaimed penitently. She quickened her pace, and so did he, talking at her slightly averted ear. ’ Then she ran swiftly out of the library, calling out as her cavalier was almost at the front door. She had never felt so acutely the desire for free initiative, for a life unhampered by others. How could she tell him of the evil that drew her and drew her, as a needle to the magnet?—the fascinating evil that even now, escaped as it was, went on distilling its poison in her mind? "Yes, yes!" said the doctor.
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