atisfied?"

"I am very fond of you; what makes you talk like this, Eva?" but his
eyelids drooped uneasily, How was he to meet those candid eyes and
tell her that he was happy--surely the lie would choke him--when he
knew that he was utterly miserable.

"Erle," she said in a low voice, and her face became very pale, "you
do not look at me, and somehow your manner frightens me; you are fond
of me, you say--a few months ago you asked me to be your wife; can you
take my hand now and tell me, as I understood you to tell me then,
that I am dearer to you than any one else in the world?"

"You have no right to put such a question," he returned, angrily. "You
have no right to doubt me. I have not deserved this, Eva."

"No right!" and now her face grew paler. "I think I have the right,
Erle. You do not wish to answer the question; that is because some one
has come between us. It is true, then, that there is some one dearer
to you than I am?"

He hid his face in his hands. No, he could not lie to her. Was not
Fay's miserable exile a warning to him against marriage without
confidence. He would have spared her if he could, but her love was too
keen-eyed. He could not take her hand and perjure his soul with a lie;
he loved her, but he could not tell her that she was the dearest thing
in the world to him.

It all came out presently. He never knew how he told it, but the sad
little story of his love for Fern Trafford got itself told at last.
Poor Erle, he whose heart was so pitiful that he forbore to tread on
the insect in his path, now found himself compelled to hurt--perhaps
wound fatally--the girl who had given him her heart.

Evelyn heard him silently to the end. The small white hands were
crushed together in her lap, and her face grew white and set as she
listened; but when he had finished, and sat there looking so downcast,
so ashamed, so unlike himself, her clear, unfaltering voice made him
raise his eyes in astonishment. "I thank you for this confidence;
if--if--" and here her lips quivered, "we had been married, and you
had told me then, I think it would have broken my heart; but now--it
is better now."

"And you can forgive me, dear; you can be sorry for me? Oh, Eva! if
you will only trust me, all may yet be well. I shall be happier now
you know the truth."

"There is nothing to forgive," she answered, quickly; "it is no fault
of yours, my poor Erle, and you were always good to me--no," as he
tried to interrupt he