accelerating ratio; and there comes a time when the
progress of the passion escapes from all human formulae, and brings two
young hearts, which had been gradually drawing nearer and nearer
together, into complete union, with a suddenness that puts an infinity
between the moment when all is told and that which went just before.

They were sitting together by themselves in the dimly lighted parlor.
They had told each other many experiences of their past lives, very
freely, as two intimate friends of different sex might do. Clement had
happened to allude to Susan, speaking very kindly and tenderly of her.
He hoped this youth to whom she was attached would make her life happy.
"You know how simple-hearted and good she is; her image will always be a
pleasant one in my memory,--second to but one other."

Myrtle ought, according to the common rules of conversation, to have
asked, What other? but she did not. She may have looked as if she wanted
to ask,--she may have blushed or turned pale, perhaps she could not trust
her voice; but whatever the reason was, she sat still, with downcast
eyes. Clement waited a reasonable time, but, finding it was of no use,
began again.

"Your image is the one other,--the only one, let me say, for all else
fades in its presence,--your image fills all my thought. Will you trust
your life and happiness with one who can offer you so little beside his
love? You know my whole heart is yours."

Whether Myrtle said anything in reply or not, whether she acted like
Coleridge's Genevieve,--that is, "fled to him and wept," or suffered her
feelings to betray themselves in some less startling confession, we will
leave untold. Her answer, spoken or silent, could not have been a cruel
one, for in another moment Clement was pressing his lips to hers, after
the manner of accepted lovers.

"Our lips have met to-day for the second time," he said, presently.

She looked at him in wonder. What did he mean? The second time! How
assuredly he spoke! She looked him calmly in the face, and awaited his
explanation.

"I have a singular story to tell you. On the morning of the 16th of
June, now nearly two years ago, I was sitting in my room at Alderbank,
some twenty miles down the river, when I heard a cry for help coming from
the river. I ran down to the bank, and there I saw a boy in an old
boat--"

When it came to the "boy" in the old boat, Myrtle's cheeks flamed so that
she could not bear it, and she