he had
said, and in the sudden reaction and surprise of the moment he had
betrayed the secret of his love for her.

He was shocked and filled with dismay when, after his return from the
grave of his mother, he had an opportunity to quietly think over what he
had done.

He felt that he had been very unwise--that he had no right to aspire to
the hand of the beautiful heiress, for he could offer her nothing but
his true heart, and this, he well knew, would be scorned by Violet's
aristocratic relatives.

Yet, in spite of his remorse, his heart leaped with exultation over the
knowledge that the lovely girl returned his affection. She had not
spoken her love, but he had seen it in her shy, sweet glance of surprise
and joy at his confession; he had felt it in the clinging clasp of her
trembling fingers, that would not let him release her hand; he had heard
it in every tone of her dear voice when she had told him, simply, but
heartily, that she "was glad."

Was she glad to know that she was his "darling," or only glad because
her presence was a comfort to him in his hour of trial?

Both, he felt very sure, and he kept repeating those three words over
and over until they became sweetest music in his soul.

But he told himself that he must not accept the priceless gift of her
love.

"What shall I do?" he cried, in deep distress. "I have compromised
myself; I have gone too far to retract, and she would deem unmanly if I
should keep silent and let the matter drop here."

He sat for hours trying to decide what course to pursue, and finally he
exclaimed, with an air of resolution:

"There is no other way but to make a frank explanation--confess my
sorrow for my presumption and ask her forgiveness; then I must take up
the burden of my lonely life and bear it as well as I can."

The next morning, after he had partaken of his solitary breakfast, which
a kind and sympathizing neighbor sent in to him, he sat down to his task
of writing his confession to Violet.

That evening the fair young girl received the following epistle:

"My Dear Miss Huntington:--I am filled with conflicting
emotions, which it would be vain for me to try to explain, in
addressing you thus; but my mother taught me this motto in my
youth--and I have endeavored to make it the rule of my life ever
since--'If you do wrong confess it and make what reparation you
can.' I realize that I was guilty of great presumption and wrong
i