ing away? Um--um--I don't know," Noel replied hesitatingly. "I think
not. No no, M. Bois-le-Duc makes a great mistake."

"You are not going away?" said the girl, a glad light coming into her
eyes. "What, Noel you have not come into this fortune?"

"Oh! yes, there is no doubt about that; but there are conditions, and I
can't accept them."

"What are the conditions?"

"One is that I shall have to leave you, to give you up."

"Noel, there would be no need of that."

"Why, what do you mean, Marie?"

"I give _you_ up," said Marie proudly. "I could never stand in your way
of advancement."

"Marie, did you not say to me most solemnly only the other night:

'Il y a longtemps que je t'aime,
Jamais je ne t'oublierai.'"

"What has that to do with it, Noel? That does not alter the case. It is
just because of that I will not let you stay here. You may think it an
easy thing to decide now, but in after years you would regret remaining
here. With your gifts, your ambition, you would be thrown away. No, Noel,
_I_ bid you go. You must not stay. Good-bye, dear one, for the last time.
You must tell them to-morrow that you will go."

"It is impossible," said Noel, in an angry tone. "You can never have
cared for me to give me up in a moment like this."

"You know that is not true, Noel. I can see into the future, and it is
just because I do care so much for you that I do not wish you to waste
your life here." She spoke with an effort, and as if she were repeating
a lesson learned beforehand.

"No, that is not it," said Noel; "I am perfectly sure you never cared for
me or you could not give me up like this in a moment."

The girl did not answer for a time, for she was deeply wounded at his
want of understanding, his non-comprehension of her most unselfish
motives. Presently she turned to him, and said in a hurried tone, for she
could scarcely control herself just then, "Noel, believe me it is for the
best. Good-bye."

Before he had time to answer she had walked swiftly away, and was hid
from his sight by the turn of the road. All had happened so quickly, the
momentous decision had been made so entirely without effort on his part,
that his breath was fairly taken away. But, beneath all his surprise and
wounded pride was a feeling of relief scarce acknowledged to himself,
though his first exclamation was one of distressed self-love, as he
exclaimed angrily, "She has no feeling; she does not care."

Ah! M. Bois-le-Duc,