was as impossible
to her as it was not to love him.

Her love had been pure from all such thoughts; she was conscious
that it ever would be pure from them. Lady Arabella was unable to
comprehend this, and, therefore, was Lady Arabella so utterly
distasteful to her.

Frank had once held her close to his warm breast; and her very soul
had thrilled with joy to feel that he so loved her,--with a joy which
she had hardly dared to acknowledge. At that moment, her maidenly
efforts had been made to push him off, but her heart had grown to
his. She had acknowledged him to be master of her spirit; her bosom's
lord; the man whom she had been born to worship; the human being to
whom it was for her to link her destiny. Frank's acres had been of no
account; nor had his want of acres. God had brought them two together
that they should love each other; that conviction had satisfied her,
and she had made it a duty to herself that she would love him with
her very soul. And now she was called upon to wrench herself asunder
from him because she had nothing to give in return!

Well, she would wrench herself asunder, as far as such wrenching
might be done compatibly with her solemn promise. It might be right
that Frank should have an opportunity offered him, so that he might
escape from his position without disgrace. She would endeavour to
give him this opportunity. So, with one deep sigh, she arose, took
herself pen, ink, and paper, and sat herself down again so that the
wrenching might begin.

And then, for a moment, she thought of her uncle. Why had he not
spoken to her of all this? Why had he not warned her? He who had ever
been so good to her, why had he now failed her so grievously? She had
told him everything, had had no secret from him; but he had never
answered her a word. "He also must have known," she said to herself,
piteously, "he also must have known that I could give nothing in
return." Such accusation, however, availed her not at all, so she sat
down and slowly wrote her letter.

"Dearest Frank," she began. She had at first written "dear Mr
Gresham;" but her heart revolted against such useless coldness. She
was not going to pretend she did not love him.

DEAREST FRANK,

Your mother has been here talking to me about our
engagement. I do not generally agree with her about such
matters; but she has said some things to-day which I
cannot but acknowledge to be true. She says, that our
marriage would