n be one of Evelyn's subtle
schemes, reacting on Mr. Bainrothe? The father for me, the son for
herself! My God! the grave would be preferable to me, to marriage with
either one or the other, the loathed or the loathing! O papa, papa! why
was I ever placed in hands like these? It must be so sweet, so
delightful, to trust and love one's associates, whether natural or
accidental! I feel as if Fate had raised up for me this band of mocking
fiends, to guard me from my kind, and mar my happiness. Day by day I
hate and distrust them more and more--nay, learn to tremble through them
at myself."

"You are silent. Miss Monfort," he said; "will you not bid me a kind, a
pardoning farewell?"

"Oh, surely, Mr. Raymond; and let me beg that, when you are near me, you
will come freely to my house. I shall be most happy to entertain you."
And I gave him my hand, frankly.

"One word more, Miss Monfort. Are you engaged to any other and more
fortunate man than Mr. Bainrothe and myself? Is it for another's sake
you have felt so very indignant? Forgive a sailor's frankness, and a
sailor's interest, even if bestowed in vain. I fear you will add to
these, a sailor's undue curiosity."

"No, Mr. Raymond, neither engaged nor likely to be. But hinge no hope on
this declaration of mine. I am probably destined to walk through life
alone, and, like many better women, to live for the good of others, in
self-defense, if for good at all. I shall never marry, Lieutenant
Raymond."

The hand that held mine, trembled slightly, relaxed, relinquished its
eager hold, and fell listlessly to his side. He believed me, evidently,
as I believed myself.

"I have loved you," he said, hoarsely, "far more than you will ever
understand. Do not forget me!"

"That is scarcely probable," I murmured; "but we shall meet again," and
I spoke cheerfully and aloud, "and under happier auspices, I trust. The
world is fair before you, Mr. Raymond; this much let me counsel, and the
counsel is drawn from experience: do not surrender your freedom too
lightly--it is a precious gift to man or woman, and those who drag
broken fetters wear woful hearts. Farewell!"

We left Saratoga on the following day. It was autumn when we reached our
home again--sad and strange September--my birth-month, and the grave of
many hopes. Mabel was well, and finely grown for a child of her years;
and the joy of seeing her, and holding her to my heart again, made me
oblivious of all else for a seaso