At last he was free.

As he went upstairs to his room, he thought to himself, "This is the hour at which I used to fly to her, and find such welcome.

A year ago to-night how happy we were!" With a strange disposition to put off the opening of the letter, he moved about his room, rearranged the books, lighted an extra lamp, and finally sat down in an arm-chair, and leaning both his arms on the table looked at the letter lying there so white, so still.

He felt a preternatural consciousness of what was in it; and he shrank from looking at the words, as a condemned prisoner might shrink from reading his own death-warrant.

The room was bitterly cold.