d that you were married;
can this be true?"

"No, no! Did your cousin credit the report?"

"Yes; and ere you make yourself known, let me in some degree prepare
her for the meeting."

So saying, she sought Florence, and asked if she were sleeping.

"No, Mary; can I do anything for you?" and she raised her head.

"Yes, Florry, come with me--I want to speak to you."

Her cousin accompanied her to the door, and standing so that the
tent intervened between them and Mr. Stewart, Mary laid her hand on
Florence's shoulder, and said:

"I have just learned, Florry, that Mr. Stewart is not married."

"Mary, Mary! why touch a chord which ever vibrates with the keenest
agony? There is no happiness for me on earth--I have known that for
long, and now I am striving to fix my thoughts, and all of hope that
remains, on heaven."

Mary linked her arm in Florence's, and gently drawing her forward,
replied:

"God has not promised heaven as the price of every earthly joy and
comfort. Can you not still hope for happiness?"

"Mary, I am parted forever from him whom I have loved so devotedly;
yet I cease to repine. I know my lot, and I will pass through life
alone, yes, alone, without a murmur."

"Not so, Florence--my own treasured Florence!"

She turned quickly, and was clasped to the heart of him she had sworn
to love alone.

"Am I dreaming?" said Florence, gazing eagerly up into the noble face
before her. He lifted his cap from his brow, and bent his head that
the light might fall full upon it. A gleam of perfect joy irradiated
her beautiful face, and, leaning her head on his shoulder, she
whispered: "Forgive me--for I doubted you."

He bent, and sealed her pardon with a long kiss.

Mary stole away to Mrs. Carlton to impart the good news; Dr. Bryant
had already communicated it. Warmly she sympathized with them in again
meeting an old friend; but Mary heeded not her words, for her eyes
were riveted on Frank's stern brow and slightly curling lip. A mist
rose before her, and catching for support at the tent, she would
have fallen, had not his strong arm encircled her; and soon she lay
motionless in her tent. He stood and looked on her a moment, then
knelt and clasped the cold hands. Mary had not swooned, though
well-nigh insensible, and a low moan of anguish escaped her lips,
colorless, and writhing with pain.

"Can I do nothing for you?"

"No, thank you; only do not tell Florry and Mr. Stewart I am ill. It
would only d