Good-bye! and the peace of a pure conscience be with you!" And I laid my burning hand on her head weighted with its clustering curls of gold.

SHE thought this gesture was one of blessing.

_I_ thought--God only knows what I thought--yet surely if curses can be so bestowed, my curse crowned her at that moment! I dared not trust myself longer in her presence, and without another word or look I left her and hurried from the house.

I knew she was startled and at the same time gratified to think she could thus have moved me to any display of emotion--but I would not even turn my head to catch her parting glance.
I could not--I was sick of myself and of her.

I was literally torn asunder between love and hatred--love born basely of material feeling alone--hatred, the offspring of a deeply injured spirit for whose wrong there could scarce be found sufficient remedy.