oving her, he could strive to prevent the
loved one from squandering her affections where pain and sorrow might
ensue. They had often met; but he strove to believe, in his unwilling
zeal, that their intimacy had not yet resulted in an incurable passion.
She had as yet shown nothing that could not have resulted from simple
friendship. And yet she had,--the warm glow that adorned her cheek when
she received his flower, the expressive glance of her soft eye as he
assisted her to the carriage, the sweet smile with which she had always
greeted him,--ah, no, these were not friendship! I He could not believe
that his affection was unreturned; it was too precious to remain
unacknowledged. The will and the heart would not conform to each other.
But his duty seemed plain, and he did not hesitate to obey its call,
though it demanded a great sacrifice.

The month to which he had limited his visit at Bellevue expired about
the period at which our tale begins. Inclination prompted him to accept
the pressing invitation of Colonel Dumont to prolong his stay; but,
bitter as was the thought of parting from her he loved, his nice sense
of honor compelled him to be firm in his purpose.

The announcement of his intended departure to Emily, as they were seated
in the drawing-room on the designated day, afforded him another evidence
that her heart was not untouched. Her pale cheek grew paler, and the
playful smile was instantly dismissed.

"So soon?" said she, scarcely able to conceal the tremulous emotion
which agitated her.

"So soon! I have finished the month allotted to me," replied Henry
Carroll, with a weak effort to appear gayer than he felt.

"Allotted to you! And pray are you stinted in the length of your visit?"

"My orders will not permit a longer stay, happy as I should be to
remain; and I have already trespassed long on your hospitality."

"Indeed, Henry, you have grown sensitive! You were not wont to consider
your visits a trespass. Pray, have you not been regarded as one of the
family?"

"True, I have. I can never repay the debt of gratitude for the many
kindnesses I have received at your good father's hands."

"He has been a thousand times repaid by the honorable life you have
led,--by feeling that the talents he has encouraged you to foster are
now blessing the world," replied Emily, warmly; "so no more of your
gratitude, if you please."

"However lightly you, or your father, may regard my obligations to him,
I ca