he would forget me and like some one else better,
knowing how joyfully Mrs Clyde would encourage any wooer whose presence
might tend to make her turn from me.

The worst of it was, too, that I had no one to sympathise with me. I
could not, exactly, go round asking people to "pity the sorrows of a
disappointed lover!"

As Lamartine sings in his "Tear of Consolation":--

"Qu'importe a ces hommes mes freres
Le coeur brise d'un malheureux?
Trop au-dessus de mes miseres,
Mon infortune est si loin d'eux!"

How could I implore sympathy? Would you have given me yours?

I would be almost ashamed to tell how I was in the habit of "mooning
away my time," thinking of Min--when, the first novelty of the office
having worn off, I found my duties so wearisome and easily got through,
that I had nothing to keep me from thinking!

I used to idle sadly.

I often wasted hours, in dreamily composing intricate monograms on my
blotting-paper, in which Min's name was twisted into all sorts of
flowery characters, which were intermingled so as to be nearly
incomprehensible to any one unacquainted with my secret.

My fellow-clerks got an inkling of it, however.

They used to ask me, who "M" was; and, when I got savage, and told them
to mind their own business, they would "chaff" me, inquiring whether
"the unknown fair" was obdurately "cruel," or no!

Little Miss Pimpernell tried to cheer me up--telling me to "hope on,
hope ever;" and, to stick steadily to my work, for, that Min would be
certain to come back soon, when all would be well. But, I could not
content myself.

I got pale and thin, worrying myself to death.--Even Lady Dasher saw the
change in me, hinting one day to the vicar, in my hearing, that she was
positive I was in a decline, or suffering from heart-disease, and that
office-work was really too hard for me.

And when Min _did_ come back, things were but little brighter for me.

The first opportunity I had of speaking alone to her, I asked her if I
might still call her by her Christian name. She said, "certainly," with
a little tremor in her dear voice and a warm blush which almost tempted
me to say more. But, I remembered having pledged my word to Mrs Clyde,
and did not urge my suit, then or thereafter, by words or looks--as far
as I could help the latter.

We did not meet often now; and, perhaps, it was as well that we did not,
for our position was awkward for both of us.

When we did, however, it s