ling to breathe his
name, and that was Arthur Hazleton. The first time she was alone with
him, she asked the question that had long been hovering on her lips. She
was sitting in an easy chair, supported by pillows, her head resting on
her wasted hand. The reflection of the crimson curtains gave a glow to
the chill whiteness of her face, and softened the gloom of her sable
eyes. She looked earnestly at Arthur, who knew all that she wished to
ask. The color mounted to his cheek. He could not frame a falsehood, and
he feared to reveal the truth.

"Are there any tidings of him?" said she; "is he safe--or has his flight
been discovered? But," continued she in a lower voice, "you need not
speak. Your looks reveal the whole. He is again imprisoned."

Arthur bowed his head, glad to be spared the painful task of asserting
the fact.

"And there is no hope of pardon or acquittal?" she asked.

"None. He _must_ meet his doom. And, Mittie, sad as it is--it is just.
Your own sense of rectitude and justice will in time sanction the
decree. You may, you must pity him--but love, unsupported by esteem,
must expire. You are mourning now over a bright illusion--a fallen
idol--a deserted temple; but believe me, your mourning will change to
joy. The illusion is dispelled, that truth may shine forth in all its
splendor; the idol thrown down that the living God may be enthroned upon
the altar; the temple deserted that it may be filled with the glory of
the Lord."

"You are right, Arthur, in one thing--would to God you were in all. It
is not love I now feel, but despair. It is dreadful to look forward to a
cold, unloving existence. I shudder to think how young I am, and how
long I may have yet to live."

"Yours is the natural language of disappointed youth. You have passed
through a fiery ordeal. The sore and quivering heart shrinks from the
contact even of sympathy. You fear the application of even Gilead's
balm. You are weak and languid, and I will not weary you with
discussion; but spring will soon be here; genial, rejoicing spring. You
will revive with its flowers, and your spirit warble with its singing
birds. Then we will walk abroad in the hush of twilight--and if you will
promise to listen, I will preach you a daily sermon, with nature for my
text and inspiration too."

"Ah! such sermons should be breathed to Helen only. She can understand
and profit by them."

"There is room enough in God's temple for you and Helen too," repli