of the last waltz, which was protracted to an indefinite length.

"Min, my darling,"--said I, after a brief pause, looking straight down
into her honest, upturned face,--"will you promise to be my wife, or
no?"

"O-oh, Frank!" she murmured, bending her head down without another word.

"Darling!"--I continued.--"You know full well that I love you; and I've
thought, dearest, that you loved me a little?"

"Hush! Do not speak so, dear Frank; you grieve me so," she said.

"Have you forgotten all the past then, Min? Don't you remember last
year, and all that happened then?"--I asked.

"I remember, Frank," she whispered, rather than spoke.

"And do you not love me still, darling?" I pleaded:--"Look up into my
face, and let me see your eyes:--_they_ won't deceive me, I know!"

But, the dear, grey eyes would not meet mine.

"Oh, Min, my darling!" I asked again, pressing her closely to my heart,
"will you not promise to be my wife? Sweet, I love you so!"

"They are looking at us, Frank,"--was her rejoinder--"let us waltz on."

We had some more turns, "Mabel" still dominant in the orchestra. O that
air! I can hear it now, as I heard it then, ringing yet in my ears--as
it will continue always to haunt me!

When we stopped again, I repeated my question once more. I was
determined to have an answer, good or bad.

"Frank," she said, hurriedly, "I cannot say anything; I have promised:--
I have promised. Pray, do not ask me!"

She spoke with great agitation. There was a tremor in her voice; and, I
could see _now_ that the soft grey eyes, which were piteously turned to
mine, were tearful and sad. I was mad, however, with love and grief, or
I could not have resisted the mute entreaty I there read--to be silent.

"Min," I went on to say, passionately, "you must now decide whether we
are to meet again, or part for ever! You know how I love you now, have
loved you ever since I first saw your darling face,--will love you until
my heart ceases to beat! But, I cannot, oh! I cannot go on like this.
The suspense is killing me:--anxiety and uncertainty are driving me mad!
Tell me, Min--dear as you are to me, I ask it for the last time--
whether you will promise to be my wife? Only give me a grain of hope,
that I may have something to look forward to; something to work for;
some object in life? At present, I have nothing; and, my existence is a
burden to me!"

"Can we not be friends still, Frank?" she asked, sadly.