n
he had asked her to be his wife, and the last words she had heard from
his lips had made this request. She. indeed, had then bade him be true
to her rival--to Florence Burton. She had told him this in spite of her
love--of her love for him and of his for her. They two, she had said,
could not now become man and wife; but he had not acknowledged the truth
of what she had said. She could not write to him. She could make no
overtures. She could ask no questions. She had no friend in whom she
could place confidence. She could only wait for him, till he should come
to tier or send to her, and let her know what was to be her fate.

As she now sat she held a letter in her hand which had just been brought
to her from Sophie--from her poor, famished, but indefatigable Sophie.
Sophie she had not seen since they had parted on the railway platform,
and then the parting was supposed to be made in lasting enmity. Desolate
as she was, she had congratulated herself much on her escape from
Sophie's friendship, and was driven by no qualms of her heart to long
for a renewal of the old ties. But it was not so with the more
affectionate Sophie; and Sophie therefore had written--as follows:

Mount Street--Friday Morning

DEAREST, DEAREST JULIE:--My heart is so sad that I cannot keep my
silence longer. What; can such friendship as ours has been be made
to die all in a minute? Oh, no--not at least in my bosom, which is
filled with love for my Julie. And my Julie will not turn from her
friend, who has been so true to her--ah, at such moments too--oh,
yes, at such moments!--just for an angry word, or a little
indiscretion. What was it after all about my brother? Bah! He is a
fool; that is all. If you shall wish it, I will never speak to him
again. What is my brother to me, compared to my Julie? My brother is
nothing to me. I tell him we go to that accursed island--accursed
island because my Julie has quarrelled with me there--and he
arranges himself to follow us. What could I do? I could not tie him
up by the leg in his London club. He is a man whom no one can tie up
by the leg. Mon Dieu, no. He is very hard to tie up.

Do I wish him for your husband? Never! Why should I wish him for
your husband? If I was a man, my Julie, I should wish you for
myself. But I am not, and why should you not have him whom you like
the best? If I was you, with your beauty and money and