t let us not be enemies."

Mournfully, he gave his hand to Arthur, and Oriana, as she wakened from
her trance, beheld them locked in that sad grasp, like two twin statues
of despair.

They led her to the house, and then the two young men walked out alone,
and talked frankly and tranquilly upon the subject. It was determined
that both should leave Riverside manor on the morrow, and that Oriana
should be left to commune with her own heart, and take counsel of time
and meditation. They would not grieve Beverly with their secret, at
least not for the present, when his sister was so ill prepared to bear
remonstrance or reproof. Harold wrote a kind letter for Oriana, in which
he released her from her pledged faith, asking only that she should take
time to study her heart, but in no wise let a sense of duty stand in the
way of her happiness. He took pains to conceal the depth of his own
affliction, and to avoid whatever she might construe as reproach.

They would have gone without an interview with Oriana, but that would
have seemed strange to Beverly. However, Oriana, although pale and
nervous, met them in the morning with more composure than they had
anticipated. Harold, just before starting, drew her aside, and placed
the letter in her hand.

"That will tell you all I would say, and you must read it when your
heart is strong and firm. Do not look so wretched. All may yet be well.
I would fain see you smile before I go."

But though she had evidently nerved herself to be composed, the tears
would come, and her heart seemed rising to her throat and about to burst
in sobs.

"I will be your true wife, Harold, and I will love you. Do not desert
me, do not cast me from you. I cannot bear to be so guilty. Indeed,
Harold, I will be true and faithful to you."

"There is no guilt in that young heart," he answered, as he kissed her
forehead. "But now, we must not talk of love; hereafter, perhaps, when
time and absence shall teach us where to choose for happiness. Part from
me now as if I were your brother, and give me a sister's kiss. Would you
see Arthur?"

She trembled and whispered painfully:

"No, Harold, no--I dare not. Oh, Harold, bid him forget me."

"It is better that you should not see him. Farewell! be brave. We are
good friends, remember. Farewell, dear girl."

Beverly had been waiting with the carriage, and as the time was short,
he called to Harold. Arthur, who stood at the carriage wheel, simply
raised his