ago; but surely that need not prevent our
being friends."

Meeta had been herself too much confused of late, to remark her
companion. When she now ventured with great effort to meet his eyes, she
found them fixed upon her with an expression of lively admiration and
grateful joy.

"Meeta, dear Meeta!" he exclaimed, seizing her hand and kissing it. "You
give me new life. I have been a miserable man for weeks past, torn by
conflicting claims upon my heart and my honor. You had claims on both,
Meeta; sacred claims, which I could never have asked you to forego; and
so had Sophie, for though I resisted long, there came a moment of mad
passion, of madder forgetfulness, in which, abandoning myself to the
present, I sought and obtained an avowal of her love. It was scarcely
over ere I felt the wrong I had done. I revealed that wrong to her; pity
me, Meeta! I told her all--your claims, your worth. To you I resolved to
be equally frank, and my only hope was in your generosity. But my father
had never suffered me to doubt that your heart was still mine, and
though I was assured that you would enable me to fulfil my obligations
to Sophie, I feared, I mean, I could not hope, that it would be without
any sacrifice; I mean without any regrets on your part."

Ernest paused in some embarrassment; but Meeta could not speak, and he
resumed:

"You have made me perfectly happy, Meeta, which even Sophie could not
have done, had I been compelled in devoting myself to her to relinquish
the friend and sister of my childhood."

"Always regard me thus, Ernest, as your friend and sister, and I shall
be satisfied."

Meeta had risen to return to the sick room, but Ernest caught her hand
and held her back, while he said:

"But you must see my Sophie, Meeta; you must know her and then you will
love her too. She will be here soon with her sister, Mrs. Schwartz."

"Mrs. Schwartz her sister? Then my last doubt is removed Ernest. She is
worthy of you."

"Worthy of me!" And Ernest would have run into all a lover's rhapsodies
on this text, but Meeta had escaped from him.

Hitherto Meeta's life had been one of quietness, of inaction, and now in
a few short weeks ages of active existence seemed crowded. One object
she had set before her as the great aim of her life; it was to secure
Ernest's happiness and preserve his honor. She understood now the
coldness with which her father had of late named him. It was essential
to her peace that this coldnes