rance, and destined to immortal bloom."

"If I thought you really loved me," said Helen, in a softened tone,
shrinking from the fascination of his glance, and the sorcery of his
voice, "I should feel great and exceeding sorrow--for it would be in
vain. But the love that I have imagined is of a very different nature.
Slowly kindled, it burns with steady and unceasing glory, unchanging as
the sun, and eternal as the soul."

Helen paused with a burning flush, fearful that she had revealed the one
secret of her heart so lately revealed to herself, and Clinton resumed
his passionate declarations.

"If you will not go," said she, all her terror returning at the
vehemence of his suit, "if you will not go," looking wildly at the door
that separated her from the sick room, "I will leave you here. You dare
not follow me. The destroying angel guards this threshold."

In her excitement she knew not what she uttered. The words came unbidden
from her lips. She laid her hand on the latch, but Clinton caught hold
of it ere she had time to lift it.

"You shall not leave me, by heaven, you shall not, till you have
answered one question. Is it for the cold, calculating Arthur Hazleton
you reject such love as mine?"

Instead of uttering an indignant denial to this sudden and vehement
interrogation, Helen trembled and turned pale. Her natural timidity and
sensitiveness returned with overpowering influence; and added to these,
a keen sense of shame at being accused of an unsolicited attachment, a
charge she could not with truth repel, humbled and oppressed her.

"A murderous guilt shows not itself more soon
Than love that would seem hid."

So thought Helen, while shrinking from the glance that gleamed upon her,
like blue steel flashing in the sunbeams. Yes! Arthur Hazleton _was_
cold compared to Clinton. He loved her even as he did Alice, with a
calm, brotherly affection, and that was all. He had never praised her
beauty or attractions--never offered the slightest incense to her vanity
or pride. Sometimes he had uttered indirect expressions, which had made
her bosom throb wildly with hope, but humility soon chastened the
emotion which delicacy taught her to conceal. Cold indeed sounded the
warmest phrase he had ever addressed her, "God bless you, dear, good,
brave Helen," to Clinton's romantic and impassioned language, though,
when it fell from his lips, it passed with such melting warmth into her
heart. Swift as a swallow's