tempt to palliate nor defend, I merely
chronicle it as, are too many of these confessions, a matter of truth,
yet not the less a subject for sorrow.

My hand was upon the lock of the door. I stopped, hesitated, and
listened. I certainly heard something. Yes, it is too true--she is
sobbing. What a total overthrow to all my selfish resolves, all my
egotistical plans, did that slight cadence give. She was crying--her
tears for the bitter pain she concluded I was suffering--mingling
doubtless with sorrow for her own sources of grief--for it was clear to
me that whoever may have been my favoured rival, the attachment was
either unknown to, or unsanctioned by the mother. I wished I had not
listened; all my determinations were completely routed and as I opened
the door I felt my heart beating almost audibly against my side.

In a subdued half-light--tempered through the rose-coloured curtains,
with a small sevres cup of newly-plucked moss-roses upon the table--sat,
or rather leaned, Emily Bingham, her face buried in her hands as
I entered. She did not hear my approach, so that I had above a minute
to admire the graceful character of her head, and the fine undulating
curve of her neck and shoulders, before I spoke.

"Miss Bingham," said I--

She started--looked up--her dark blue eyes, brilliant though tearful,
were fixed upon me for a second, as if searching my very inmost thoughts.
She held out her hand, and turning her head aside, made room for me on
the sofa beside her. Strange girl, thought I, that in the very moment
of breaking with a man for ever, puts on her most fascinating toilette
--arrays herself in her most bewitching manner, and gives him a reception
only calculated to turn his head, and render him ten times more in love
than ever. Her hand, which remained still in mine, was burning as if in
fever, and the convulsive movement of her neck and shoulders showed me
how much this meeting cost her. We were both silent, till at length,
feeling that any chance interruption might leave us as far as ever from
understanding each other, I resolved to begin.

"My dear, dear Emily," I said, "do not I entreat of you add to the misery
I am this moment enduring by letting me see you thus. Whatever your
wrongs towards me, this is far too heavy a retribution. My object was
never to make you wretched, if I am not to obtain the bliss, to strive
and make you happy."

"Oh, Harry"--this was the first time she had ever so