er for ever."

"For ever, Caroline!"

"Yes, for ever. That has been said which can never be unsaid. Do not
grieve about it"--aunt Mary was now in tears--"it is better so; I am
sure it is better. We should not have made each other happy."

"But three years, Caroline; three years!" said aunt Mary through her
tears, thinking of the time that had been so sadly lost. Aunt Mary
was widely awake to the fact that three years was a long period in
a girl's life, and that to have passed three years as the betrothed
of one man and then to leave him was injurious to the matrimonial
prospects of a young lady. Miss Baker was full of these little
mundane considerations; but then they were never exercised, never had
been exercised, on her own behalf.

"Yes, three years!" and Caroline smiled, even through her grief. "It
cannot be helped, aunt. And the rest of it; neither can that be
helped. Three years! say thirty, aunt."

Miss Baker looked at her, not quite understanding. "And must it be
so?" said she.

"Must! oh, yes, indeed it must. It must now, must--must--must."

Then they both sat silent for awhile. Miss Baker was longing to know
the cause of this sudden disruption, but she hesitated at first to
inquire. It was not, however, to be borne that the matter should be
allowed to remain altogether undiscussed.

"But what is it he has said?" she at last asked. Caroline had never
told her aunt that that letter had been shown to Mr. Harcourt, and
had no intention of telling her so now.

"I could not tell you, aunt, all that passed. It was not what he said
more than what I said. At least--no; that is not true. It did arise
from what he said; but I would not answer him as he would have me;
and so we agreed to part."

"He wished to have the marriage at once?"

"No; I think he wished no such thing. You may rest assured he wishes
no marriage now; none with me, at least. And rest assured of this,
too, that I wish none with him. Wish! it is no use wishing. It is now
impossible."

Again there was a silence, and again it was broken by Miss Baker. "I
wonder whether you ever really loved him? Sometimes I have thought
you never did."

"Perhaps not," said she, musing on her fate.

"If it is never to be, I hope that you did not."

"It would be to be hoped--to be hoped for me, and to be hoped also
for him."

"Oh, he loved you. There is no doubt of that; no doubt at all of
that. If any man ever loved a girl, he loved you." To this Miss