aled the poor girl's
secret. Its discovery overwhelmed him, at once with the consciousness of
his previous and prolonged dullness--which was surely mortifying--as
with the more painful consciousness of the evil which he had unwittingly
occasioned. But the present situation of the gentle victim called for
immediate attention; and, hastily darting out to another apartment, he
summoned Mrs. Munro to the succor of her niece.

"What is the matter, Mr. Colleton?"

"She faints," answered the other hoarsely, as he hurried the widow into
the chamber.

"Bless my soul, what _can_ be the matter!"

The wondering of the hostess was not permitted to consume her time and
make her neglectful; Colleton did not suffer this. He hurried her with
the restoratives, and saw them applied, and waiting only till he could
be sure of the recovery of the patient, he hurried away, without giving
the aunt any opportunity to examine him in respect to the cause of
Lucy's illness.

Greatly excited, and painfully so, Ralph hastened at once to the
lodgings of Edith. She was luckily alone. She cried out, as he entered--

"Well, Ralph, she will come with us?"

"No!"

"No!--and why not, Ralph! I must go and see her."

"She will not see you, Edith."

"Not see me!"

"No! She positively declines to see you."

"Why, Ralph, that is very strange. What can it mean?"

"Mean, Edith, it means that I am very unfortunate. I have been a blind
fool if nothing worse."

"Why, what can _you_ mean, Ralph. What is this new mystery? This is,
surely, a place of more marvels than--"

"Hear me, Edith, my love, and tell me what you think. I am bewildered,
mortified, confounded."

He proceeded, as well as he could, to relate what had occurred; to give,
not only the words, but to describe the manner of Lucy--so much of it
had been expressed in this way--and he concluded, with a warm suffusion
of his cheeks, to mention the self-flattering conclusion to which he had
come:--

"Now, Edith, you who know me so well, tell me, can you think it possible
that I have done, or said anything which has been calculated to make her
suppose that I loved her--that I sought her. In short, do you think me
capable of playing the scoundrel. I feel that I have been
blind--something of a fool, Edith--but, on my soul, I can not recall a
moment in which I have said or shown anything to this poor girl which
was unbecoming in the gentleman."

The maiden looked at him curiously. At first