e would be wretched. In this state of mind, he called one day upon Miss Linmore, hoping and fearing, yet resolved to know his fate. The moment he entered her presence he observed a change. She did not smile; and there was something chilling in the steady glance of her large dark eyes.
"Have I offended you?" he asked, as she declined taking his offered hand.
"Yes," was the firm reply, while the young lady assumed a dignified air.
"In what?" asked Florence.
"In proving false to her in whose ears you first breathed words of affection."
The young man started as if stung by a serpent.
"The man," resumed Miss Linmore, "who has been false to Edith Walter, never can be true to me. I wouldn't have the affection that could turn from one like her. I hold it to be light as the thistle-down. Go! heal the heart you have almost broken, if, perchance, it be not yet too late. As for me, think of me as if we had all our lives been strangers--such, henceforth, we must ever remain."