her cheek flushed at his whispered
vows--had not her hand rested lovingly in his, and her lip been yielded
to the first kiss of love--how, then, could he dare to doubt her? She
was grieved for his sake--he had been selfishly abrupt in his first
communication of his sorrow, and now he--the stronger--must struggle to
bear and to speak cheerfully for her sake. And with this feeling he had
been able to conclude far more cheerfully than he commenced. As she
still continued silent, he bent forward, and would have pressed his lip
to her cheek, saying, "Not one word for me, dear one,"--but, drawing
hastily back, Caroline said with great effort,

"I think, Mr. Oswald--it seems to me that--that--an engagement must be a
heavy burden to one who has to make his own way in life--I--I should be
sorry to be a disadvantage to you."

It was a crushing blow, and for an instant he sat stunned into almost
death-like stillness by it:--but he rallied;--he would leave no loop on
which hope or fancy might hereafter hang a doubt. "Caroline," he said,
in a voice whose change spoke the intensity of his feelings, "do not
speak of disadvantage to me--your love was the one star left in my
sky--but that matters not--what I would know is, whether you desire that
the record of last evening should be blotted from the history of our
lives?"

"I--I think it had better be--I am sure I wish you well, Mr. Oswald."

It was well for her, perhaps, that she did not venture to meet his
eye--that look of withering scorn could hardly ever have vanished from
her memory--it was enough to hear his bitter laugh, and the accents in
which he said, "Thank you, Miss Danby--your wishes are fully
reciprocated--may you never know a love less prudent than your own."

The door closed on him, and she was alone--left to the companionship of
her own heart--evil companionship in such an hour! She hastened to
relate all that had passed to Mary, but Mary had no assurances for
her--she had only sympathy for Philip--"dear Philip"--as she called him
over and over again. "I think it would better become one so young as you
are, to say, Mr. Oswald, Mary," said Caroline, pettishly.

"I have called him Philip from my childhood, Caroline--I shall not begin
to say Mr. Oswald _now_." Mary did not mean a reproach, but to
Caroline's accusing conscience it sounded like one, and she turned away
indignantly. She soon, however, sought her cousin again with a note in
her hand.

"I have been wr