ore taken up
with her cousin's unhappiness than with her own.

"How I must have made her suffer! I have been a curse to those who loved
me. But I am humbled now, and very rightly."

I began to experience a certain awe of this great nature. There was
grandeur even in her contrition, and as I took in the expression of her
colourless features, sweet with almost an unearthly sweetness in spite
of the anguish consuming her, I suddenly realised what Sinclair's love
for her must be. I also as suddenly realised the depth and extent of his
suffering. To call such a woman his, to lead her almost to the foot of
the altar, and then to see her turn aside and leave him! Surely his lot
was an intolerable one, and though the interference I had unconsciously
made in his wishes had been involuntary, I felt like cursing myself for
not having been more open in my attentions to the girl I really loved.

Gilbertine seemed to divine my thoughts, for, pausing at the door she
had unconsciously approached, she stood with the knob in her hand, and,
with averted brow, remarked gravely:

"I am going out of your life. Before I do so, however, I should like to
say a few words in palliation of my conduct. I have never known a
mother. I early fell under my aunt's charge, who, detesting children,
sent me away to school, where I was well enough treated, but never
loved. I was a plain child, and felt my plainness. This gave an
awkwardness to my actions, and as my aunt had caused it to be distinctly
understood that her sole intention in sending me to the Academy was to
have me educated for a teacher, my position awakened little interest,
and few hearts, if any, warmed toward me. Meanwhile, my breast was
filled with but one thought, one absorbing wish. I longed to love
passionately, and be passionately loved in return. Had I found a
mate--but I never did. I was not destined for any such happiness.

"Years passed. I was a woman, but neither my happiness nor my
self-confidence had kept pace with my growth. Girls who once passed me
with a bare nod now stopped to stare, sometimes to whisper comments
behind my back. I did not understand this change, and withdrew more and
more into myself and the fairy-land made for me by books. Romance was my
life, and I had fallen into the dangerous habit of brooding over the
pleasures and excitements which would have been mine had I been born
beautiful and wealthy, when my aunt suddenly visited the school, saw me,
and at