e me till
I have told you what my single heart is too narrow to contain."

"Let me go," cried Helen, struggling to release the hand which he had
taken, and springing from her rocky seat. "It is not right to talk to me
in this manner, and I will not hear you. It is false to Mittie, and
insulting to me."

"I should be false to Mittie should I pretend to love her now, when my
whole heart and soul are yours," exclaimed the young man, vehemently. "I
can no more resist the impulse that draws me to you, than I can stay the
beatings of this wildly throbbing heart. Love, Helen, cannot be forced,
neither can it be restrained."

"I know nothing of love," cried Helen, pressing on her homeward path,
with a terror she dared not betray, "nor do I wish to know--but one
thing I do know--I feel nothing but dread in your presence. You make me
wretched and miserable. I am sure if you have the feelings of a
gentleman you will leave me after telling you this."

"The more you urge me to flee, the more firmly am I rooted to your side.
You do not know your own heart, Helen. You are so young and guileless.
It is not dread of me, but your sister's displeasure that makes you
tremble with fear. You cannot fear me, Helen--you _must_, you _will_,
you _shall_ love me."

Helen was now wrought up to a pitch of excitement and terror that was
perfectly uncontrollable. Every word uttered by Clinton seemed burned
in--on her brain, not her heart, and she pressed both hands on her
forehead, as if to put out the flame.

"Oh! that Arthur Hazleton were here," she exclaimed, "he would protect
me."

"No danger shall reach you while I am near you, Helen," cried Clinton,
again endeavoring to take her hand in his--but Helen darted into a side
path and ran as fleetly and wildly as when she believed the glittering,
fiery-eyed viper was pursuing her. Sometimes she caught hold of the
slender trunk of a tree to give her a quicker momentum, and sometimes
she sprang over brooklets, which, in a calmer moment, she would have
deemed impossible. She felt that Clinton had slackened his pursuit as
she drew near her home, but she never paused till she found herself in
her own chamber, where, sinking into a chair, she burst into a passion
of tears such as she had never wept before. Shame, dread, resentment,
fear--all pressed so crushingly upon her, her soul was bowed even to the
dust. The future lowered so darkly before her. Mittie--she could not
help looking upon her as a