is acquaintances shunned him, his friends dropped
away from him, and the guiltiness of the present received a tinge of
deeper horror from the gloom of the future.

All that could be done, Julian did. He warned, he expostulated, he
reminded of purer and happier--of pure and happy days. But he did not
know the bitter fountain of despondency whence flowed those naphthaline
streams of passion. At last he said--

"Kennedy, I have not often spoken to you of my dear sister; it is time
to speak of her now. Your conduct proves to me that you do not and
cannot love her."

Kennedy listened in silence; his face bowed down upon his hands. "You
_could_ not go on as you are doing if you loved her, for love allows no
meaner, no unhallowed fires to pollute her vestal flame. Your love must
be a pretence--a thing of the past. It was only possible, Kennedy, when
you were worthier than now you are."

He groaned deeply, but still said nothing.

"Kennedy," continued Julian, "I have loved you as a friend, as a
brother; I love you still most earnestly, and you must not be too much
pained at what I say; but I have come to a determination which I must
tell you, and by which I must abide. Your engagement with Violet must
cease."

"Does SHE say so?" he asked in a hollow voice.

"No, she does not know, Kennedy, what I know of you; but she will trust
my deep affection, and know that I act solely for her good. The blow
may almost kill her, but better that she should die than that her life
should be ever connected--oh, that you should have driven me to say it--
with one so stained as yours!"

"Aye!" said Kennedy bitterly, "stab hard, for the knife is in your hand.
Fling dust on those who are down already--it is the world's way. I see
through it all, Julian Home; you would gladly get rid of me, that Violet
may wear a coronet. No comparison between a penniless and ruined
undergraduate, and a handsome, rich young viscount."

"Unjust! ungenerous!" answered Julian, with indignation; "you have
poisoned your own true heart, Kennedy, or you would not utter the lie
which you must disbelieve. Edward Kennedy, I will not attempt to rebut
your unworthy suspicions; you know neither my character nor Violet's, or
you would not have dared to utter them. No--it is clearer to me than
ever that you are no fit suitor for my sister. Passion and weakness
have dragged you very low. I trust and pray that you may recover
yourself again."

A sudden ru