“In what shape?”

“In the shape of Miss Ingram; a noble and beautiful woman, — your bride.”

“My bride! What bride? I have no bride!”

“But you will have.”

“Yes; — I will! — I will!” He set his teeth.

“Then I must go: — you have said it yourself.”

“No: you must stay! I swear it — and the oath shall be kept.”

“I tell you I must go!” I retorted, roused to something like passion.

“Do you think I can stay to become nothing to you? Do you think I am an automaton? —