painful shock. A telegram arrived:

"Do not come to-morrow; we are going away for a week.
Rivals."

Jack received that despatch just as Madame Belisaire had ironed his fine
linen for the next day. The suddenness of this departure, the brevity
of the despatch, and even the printed characters instead of his friend's
well-known writing, affected him most painfully. He expected a letter
from Cecile or the doctor to explain the mystery, but nothing came, and
for a week he was a prey to suspense and anxiety. The truth was: neither
Cecile nor the doctor had left home, but that M. Rivals wished for time
to prepare the youth for an unexpected blow--for a decision of Cecile's
so extraordinary that he hoped his granddaughter would be induced to
reconsider it. One evening, on coming into the house, he had found
Cecile in a state of singular agitation; her lips were pale but firmly
closed. He tried to make her smile at the dinner-table, but in vain; and
suddenly, in reply to some remark of his in regard to Jack's coming,
she said, "I do not wish him to come."

He looked at her in amazement. She was as pale as death, but in a
firm voice she repeated, "I do not wish him to come on Sunday, or ever
again."

"What is the matter, my child?"

"Nothing, dear grandfather, save that I can never marry Jack."

"You frighten me, Cecile! Tell me what you mean."

"I am simply beginning to understand myself. I do not love him; I was
mistaken."

"Good heavens, child, are you quite mad? You have had some childish
misunderstanding."

"No, grandpapa, I assure you that I have for Jack a sister's friendship,
nothing more. I cannot be his wife."

The doctor was startled. "Cecile," he said, gravely, "do you love any
other person?"

She colored. "No; but I do not wish to marry;" and to all that M. Rivals
said she would make no other reply.

He asked her what would be said, what would be thought by their little
world. "Remember," he said, "that to Jack this will be a frightful blow;
his whole future will be sacrificed."

Cecile's pale features quivered nervously. Her grandfather took her
hand.

"My child," he said, "think well before you decide a question of such
importance."

"No," she answered; "the sooner he knows my decision the better for us
both. I know that I am going to pain him deeply, but the longer we delay
the worse it will be, and I cannot see him again until he knows the
truth; I am incapable of such treachery."