so, and I ask your pardon in
my turn now, dear Arthur. You had a right to love Blanche. She was a
thousand times prettier and more accomplished than--than any girl near
us here; and you not could know that she had no heart; and so you were
right to leave her too. I ought not to rebuke you about Blanche Amory,
and because she deceived you. Pardon me, Pen,"--and she held the kind
hand out to Pen once more.

"We were both jealous," said Pen. "Dear Laura, let us both forgive"--and
he seized her band and would have drawn her towards him. He thought that
she was relenting, and already assumed the airs of a victor.

But she shrank back, and her tears passed away; and she fixed on him
a look so melancholy and severe, that the young man in his turn shrank
before it. "Do not mistake me, Arthur," she said, "it cannot be. You do
not know what you ask, and do not be too angry with me for saying that
I think you do not deserve it. What do you offer in exchange to a woman
for her love, honour, and obedience? If ever I say these words, dear
Pen, I hope to say them in earnest, and by the blessing of God to keep
my vow. But you--what tie binds you? You do not care about many things
which we poor women hold sacred, I do not like to think or ask how far
your incredulity leads you. You offer to marry to please our mother,
and own that you have no heart to give away. Oh, Arthur, what is it you
offer me? What a rash compact would you enter into so lightly? A month
ago, and you would have given yourself to another. I pray you do not
trifle with your own or others' hearts so recklessly. Go and work; go
and mend, dear Arthur, for I see your faults, and dare speak of them
now: go and get fame, as you say that you can, and I will pray for my
brother, and watch our dearest mother at home."

"Is that your final decision, Laura?" Arthur cried.

"Yes," said Laura, bowing her head; and once more giving him her hand,
she went away. He saw her pass under the creepers of the little porch,
and disappear into the house. The curtains of his mother's window fell
at the same minute, but he did not mark that, or suspect that Helen had
been witnessing the scene.

Was he pleased, or was he angry at its termination? He had asked her,
and a secret triumph filled his heart to think that he was still free.
She had refused him, but did she not love him? That avowal of jealousy
made him still think that her heart was his own, whatever her lips might
utter.

And