self. You were just
stepping into one of those very omnibusses you have since seen fit to
decry. What followed you must remember as distinctly as I--no _not_ as
distinctly, for the whole of that delicious interview is engraven on
my heart--one of the sun-bright scenes of my life that I can never
forget. And now, after that beautiful interchange of thought and soul
that promised--every thing, do I find you cold, impassive. If you
repent the trust you so freely reposed in me, in all frankness, say
so; but for the sweet love of heaven, do not pretend to such--"

"For the sweet love of heaven what is the man raving about? Are you
mad, dear cousin, insane? Poor Cousin Ledyard! Or is it--?" her whole
manner changed, her brilliant eyes lighted up with intense fire. How
beautiful she looked! I could have knelt and worshiped her, though,
strange to say, my restless, ardent love for her had entirely abated.
"Yes!" exclaimed she, "it must be so;" and with that she clasped her
small white hands, and throwing back her fine head, laughed with all
her heart, and strength, and soul.

This was very pleasant for me; still I had to join her laugh, it was
so genuine and infectious.

"Forgive me, dear cousin, forgive me for my rude laughter; forgive me
also for my folly in attempting to deceive you. You will hereafter
find me the same you found me in our first pleasant interview. Here is
my hand--I will not explain one other word to-night; I hear voices on
the stairs. Come here to-morrow evening at eight, and you shall know
all--all my reasons."

"And why not to-morrow morning, cruel cousin?"

"I am engaged all of the day to-morrow. I go with mamma and papa out
of town, ten miles or so, to dine; a stupid affair, but mamma wishes
it."

"But before you go--just after breakfast."

"No, no--come in the evening."

By this time the voices heard on the stairs had entered the room in
the shape of a merry half-dozen of my cousin's young friends. Feeling
too agitated for society, I withdrew.

And now another night and a whole day more of suspense--that pale
horror, that come in what shape it will, even in the shape of a
beautiful cousin, always torments the very life from my heart.

All the clocks in town were striking eight as I rung my uncle's bell.
I found the drawing-room full of company, at which I felt vexed and
disappointed.

My lovely cousin came up to me and placed her arm within mine, and led
me through the next room into th