s is no time to speak of that," returned Eleanore.

Mary's countenance flushed. All the antagonism of her nature was
aroused. She looked absolutely Juno-like in her wrath and reckless
menace. "Eleanore," she cried, "I am going to F---- to marry Mr.
Clavering! _Now_ do you wish to accompany me?"

"I do."

Mary's whole manner changed. Leaping forward, she grasped her cousin's
arm and shook it. "For what reason?" she cried. "What do you intend to
do?"

"To witness the marriage, if it be a true one; to step between you
and shame if any element of falsehood should come in to affect its
legality."

Mary's hand fell from her cousin's arm. "I do not understand you,"
said she. "I thought you never gave countenance to what you considered
wrong."

"Nor do I. Any one who knows me will understand that I do not give my
approval to this marriage just because I attend its ceremonial in the
capacity of an unwilling witness."

"Then why go?"

"Because I value your honor above my own peace. Because I love our
common benefactor, and know that he would never pardon me if I let his
darling be married, however contrary her union might be to his wishes,
without lending the support of my presence to make the transaction at
least a respectable one."

"But in so doing you will be involved in a world of deception--which you
hate."

"Any more so than now?"

"Mr. Clavering does not return with me, Eleanore."

"No, I supposed not."

"I leave him immediately after the ceremony."

Eleanore bowed her head.

"He goes to Europe." A pause.

"And I return home."

"There to wait for what, Mary?"

Mary's face crimsoned, and she turned slowly away.

"What every other girl does under such circumstances, I suppose. The
development of more reasonable feelings in an obdurate parent's heart."

Eleanore sighed, and a short silence ensued, broken by Eleanore's
suddenly falling upon her knees, and clasping her cousin's hand. "Oh,
Mary," she sobbed, her haughtiness all disappearing in a gush of wild
entreaty, "consider what you are doing! Think, before it is too late, of
the consequences which must follow such an act as this. Marriage founded
upon deception can never lead to happiness. Love--but it is not that.
Love would have led you either to have dismissed Mr. Clavering at once,
or to have openly accepted the fate which a union with him would bring.
Only passion stoops to subterfuge like this. And you," she continued,
rising and turning