This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1877 edition. Excerpt: ...the rain and darkness, reckless of the storm. He went on foot to the City in spite of the rain, which never ceased in all that weary walk. He spent the night at that hostelry of which he had spoken to his secretary, and where he had sent his luggage on arriving from France. He spent the brief summer night at this Green Dragon--a hideous sleepless night, in which his wife's dead face was always before his eyes. Was he sorry for what he had done? No, not sorry. He loved his wife as passionately as ever, and regretted her with a desperate anguish. But he did not repent. Had the deed been to do again he would have done it, deeming the blood of those two guilty ones the sole possible atonement for his wjrong. At daybreak he was on board the Antwerp packet; a fair summer morning, unspeakably serene and tranquil after the tempest. What a lovely calm without, what a fierce tumult within, as George Deverill stood upon the deck watching the towers and steeples of the great city melt into the cloudless blue of that summer heaven! It was not till the vessel had passed the Kentish hills and was out in the open sea that my lord remembered that letter in his breast-pocket, and took it out to read with a half-listless curiosity. What Vould its contents signify to him? They could not make his dead wife an honest woman, or restore to him one of those lost hopes which had brightened his life a little while ago. The letter ran thus: "The secret I am about to confide in you, Alice, is one that I have guarded jealously for five-and-twenty years of my life; and I charge you, as you value your soul, to keep it as jealously to your dying day; ay, even from your husband, should you marry, as it is but likely you will ere long. "That Edward Harmer, whom...--This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition.