o,
you cannot love me still!

"IDA SLATER."

Paul replied with the first love-letter he had ever written, and one that
any woman who loved him must have found irresistible. He enclosed a note
from Miss Ludington, assuring Ida of the unhappiness which her flight had
caused them, the undiminished tenderness which they cherished for her;
and the cruelty she would be guilty of if she refused to return.

In response to these letters there came a note saying simply, "I will
come."

On the evening of the day this note was received, as Paul and Miss
Ludington were together in the sitting-room talking as usual of Ida, and
wondering on what day she would return, there was a light step at, the
open door, and she glided into the room, and, throwing herself on her
knees before Miss Ludington, hid her face in her lap.

It was an hour before she would raise her head, replying the while only
with sobs to the kisses and caresses showered upon her, and the
assurances of love and welcome poured into her ears.

When at last she lifted her face her embarrassment was so distressing
that in pity Miss Ludington told Paul he might take her out for a walk in
the dark.

When they came back her cheeks were flushed as redly as when she went
out; but, despite her shame, she looked very happy.

"She is to be my wife in two weeks from to-day," said Paul, exultantly.

"I ought not to let him marry me. I know I ought not. I am not fit for
him," faltered Ida; "but I cannot refuse him anything, and I love him
so!"

"You are quite fit for him," said Miss Ludington, kissing her, "and I can
well believe he loves you. It would be strange, indeed, if he did not.
You are a noble and a tender woman, and he will be very happy."

In the days that followed, Ida was at first much puzzled to account not
only for the evident genuineness of the esteem which her friends
cherished for her, but for the fact that it seemed to have been enhanced
rather than diminished by the recent events. Instead of regarding her
repentance as at most offsetting her offence, they apparently looked upon
it as a positive virtue redounding wholly to her credit. It was quite as
if she had made amends for another person a sin, in contrast with whose
conduct her own nobility stood out in fine relief.

And that, in fact, is exactly the way they did look at it. Their habit of
distinguishing between the successive phases of an individu