ion. I had occasion to go into the kitchen
garden to gather some of the double ragged-robins which grew in a corner
there. Almost as soon as I had entered I heard footsteps without. The
door opened and shut, and I turned to behold him just inside it. As the
garden is closed by four walls and the gardener was absent, the spot
ensured absolute privacy. He came along the path by the asparagus-bed,
and overtook me.

'You know why I come, Alicia?' said he, in a tremulous voice.

I said nothing, and hung my head, for by his tone I did know.

'Yes,' he went on, 'it is you I love; my sentiment towards your sister is
one of affection too, but protective, tutelary affection--no more. Say
what you will I cannot help it. I mistook my feeling for her, and I know
how much I am to blame for my want of self-knowledge. I have fought
against this discovery night and day; but it cannot be concealed. Why
did I ever see you, since I could not see you till I had committed
myself? At the moment my eyes beheld you on that day of my arrival, I
said, "This is the woman for whom my manhood has waited." Ever since an
unaccountable fascination has riveted my heart to you. Answer one word!'

'O, M. de la Feste!' I burst out. What I said more I cannot remember,
but I suppose that the misery I was in showed pretty plainly, for he
said, 'Something must be done to let her know; perhaps I have mistaken
her affection, too; but all depends upon what you feel.'

'I cannot tell what I feel,' said I, 'except that this seems terrible
treachery; and every moment that I stay with you here makes it worse! . .
. Try to keep faith with her--her young heart is tender; believe me
there is no mistake in the quality of her love for you. Would there
were! This would kill her if she knew it!'

He sighed heavily. 'She ought never to be my wife,' he said. 'Leaving
my own happiness out of the question, it would be a cruelty to her to
unite her to me.'

I said I could not hear such words from him, and begged him in tears to
go away; he obeyed, and I heard the garden door shut behind him. What is
to be the end of the announcement, and the fate of Caroline?

May 20.--I put a good deal on paper yesterday, and yet not all. I was,
in truth, hoping against hope, against conviction, against too conscious
self-judgment. I scarcely dare own the truth now, yet it relieves my
aching heart to set it down. Yes, I love him--that is the dreadful fact,
and I c