nd joined the cotillons.
Edgar looked in vain for a vacant sofa, and at length asked Florence if
she would not like to walk on the piazzas. She assented, and they went
forth. The evening was cool and delightful. A sweet young moon shed her
pale light o'er the scene, veiling the roughness of the surrounding
country, and heightening its romantic effect.

"I think you are growing less cheerful every day," said he, gazing
tenderly on her downcast features.

"Can you not divine the cause of my depression?" she asked, raising her
dark eyes to his face.

"No," said he, smiling on her. "Won't you tell me?"

"Father says we must return home soon," answered she, turning her face
away.

"Is that an unpleasant prospect to you?" asked he, seeking to obtain a
glance at her averted face.

"Yes," returned she; and he thought a shudder for a moment convulsed the
slender form at his side.

They were both silent several moments, and then he remarked, "I intend
to visit Wimbledon in a few months; may I not hope to see you should I
do so?"

"I presume my father will be happy to receive a visit from you,"
answered she, in a formal tone.

"But his daughter would rather be excused from my company, I am to
understand," said he.

"O, no! not that," returned Florence quickly, turning her face suddenly
toward him, when he saw it was bathed in tears and marked with painful
emotion.

"What distresses you, Florence?" asked he; gently taking her hand in
his. "Will you not tell me?"

"I dare not, Edgar!" answered she, with fast-falling tears. "I have
wronged you, and you will not forgive me."

"Then you do not love me!" said he, looking sadly on her countenance.

"O, yes! I love you," she returned, in a tone of pathetic tenderness,
"Heaven knows, too wildly well! If that could atone for my fault, I
should not fear to give it expression."

"It can!" said he, pressing her hand closely to his heart. "Believe me,
Florence, it can atone for everything."

Encouraged by his tone and manner she spoke. "I am engaged"--he dropped
the hand and started back--"to Rufus Malcome," she concluded, and then
darting quickly into the hall, flew up stairs and locked herself into
her own apartment. She paced the floor hurriedly several minutes, and
then seized her journal,--always her confidant in moments of affliction.

"I knew it would come to this at last," she wrote. "I have acknowledged
my error, and told him of my engagement with Rufus Malcome.