ul, elegant man, who had not bowed to me insolently. I imagined
that a gentleman used to city life must find our country ways tiresome.
I pitied him, but what could I do?

"Once in the meadows I was following up the brook to find cardinal
flowers. The brook wound through a little wood; and as I was passing,
looking closely among the flags and pickerel-wood, I suddenly heard a
voice close to me--'The lobelia blossoms are further on, Miss Jane.' I
knew instantly who it was, and I was conscious of being more scarlet
than the flowers I was seeking.

"Well, dear," said Mrs. Simcoe, after pausing for a few moments, "I can
not repeat every detail. The time came when I was not afraid to speak to
him--when I cared to speak to no one else--when I thought of him all day
and dreamed of him all night--when I wore the ribbons he praised, and the
colors he loved, and the flowers he gave me; when he told me of the great
life beyond the village, of lofty and beautiful women he had known, of
wise men he had seen, of the foreign countries he had visited--when he
twined my hair around his finger and said, 'Jane, I love you!'"

Her eyes were excited, and her voice was hurried, but inexpressibly sad.
Hope sat by, and the tears flowed from her eyes.

"A long, long time. Yet it was only a few months--it was only a summer.
He came in May, and was gone again in November. But between his coming
and going the roses in our garden blossomed and withered. So you see
there was time enough. Time enough! Time enough! I was heavenly happy.

"One day he said that he must go. There was some frightful trouble in his
eye. 'Will you come back?' I asked. I tremble to remember how sternly I
asked it, and how cold and bloodless I felt. 'So help me God!' he
answered, and left me. Left me! 'So help me God!' he murmured, as his
tears fell upon my cheek and he kissed me. 'So help me God!'--and he left
me. Not a word, not a look, not a sign had he given me to suppose that he
would not return; not a thought, not a wish had he breathed to me that
you might not hear. His miniature hung in a locket around my neck,
even as my whole heart and soul hung upon his love. 'So help me God!'
he whispered, and left me.

"He did not come back. I thought my heart was frozen. My mother sighed
as she went on with her hard, incessant work. My father tried to be
cheerful. 'Cry, girl, cry,' my mother said; 'only cry, and you'll be
better.' I could not cry; I could not smile. I could