100 THE FLORAL TELEGRAPH. 
I see her enter the gate behind us. 
Mr. Honeycomb; I cannot go on. 
What ensued was too dreadful ! And 
yet it must be told. Her cruel father, 
armed to the teeth, hung upon her 
steps like the bloodhound upon the 
track of the innocent fawn ; and her 
ferocious lover came stealthily be¬ 
hind her like a craven assassin. 
“ I saw all this in the very mad¬ 
ness of agony. I could not—it was 
denied to me — break the enchanted 
circle that separates me from morta¬ 
lity. I saw my dreadful work — my 
instigation of the accursed letter. I 
O 
saw, and could not prevent it. It 
was the work of my hands ; these 
