a maiden looked who waited to be won; and though all of true love
that he could ever give to woman lay buried with his little bride, he
felt his pulses quicken with a certain aesthetic pleasure in the
situation. Presently he rose, and, after arranging his bunch of purple
sweetness into dainty form, offered it silently to his companion.

She took it, smiling, and carried it mechanically to her face.

Oh, the scent of the violets! Upon the most delicate yet mighty
pinions she was carried back, despite all her proud resolves to that
golden hour, only five days ago, when she lay upon her lover's broad
breast, and heard the beating of his heart beneath her ear.

Again she felt his arm around her, so strong, yet so gentle; saw his
handsome face bent towards her, closer--ever closer--felt again the
tide of joy that coursed through her veins in the expectation of his
kiss.

No, no, she must not--she would not yield to this degrading folly. If
it were not yet dead, then she must kill it.

She had first grown pale, but the next moment a deep crimson flooded
her face. She turned her head away, and Rupert saw her tremble as she
dropped the hand that held the flowers close clenched by her side. He
formed his own opinion of what was passing within her, and it made
even his cold blood course hotly in his veins.

"Madeleine," he said, with low rapid utterance; "I am not mistaken, I
trust, in thinking you look on me as a good friend?"

"Indeed, yes;" answered the girl, with an effort, turning her
tremulous face towards him; "a good friend indeed."

Had he not been so five days ago? Aye, most truly, and she would have
it so, in spite of the hungry voice within her which had awaked and
cried out against the knowledge that had brought such misery.

He saw her set her little teeth and toss her head, and knew she was
thinking of the adventurer who had dared aspire to her. And he gained
warmer courage still.

"Nothing more than a friend, sweet?"

"A kind cousin; almost a brother."

"No, no; not a brother, Madeleine. Nay, hear me," taking her hands and
looking into her uncomprehending eyes, "I would not be a brother, but
something closer, dearer. We are both alone in the world, more or
less. Whom have you but a mad-cap sister, a poor dreamer of a
brother-in-law, an octogenarian aunt, to look to? I have no one, no
one to whom my coming or my going, my living or my dying makes one
pulse beat of difference--except poor Sophia. Let u