your purity, only to make my life more desolate?"

66

Nobleness, goodness!...." she repeated, in a voice so full of shame and sorrow that the tears started into Clarence's eyes.

66

Yes, I said it, and I say so still-the best, the brightest, the purest." Then, as self rose again, he burst forth, "Oh, Isabel! if you love me, you cannot make me so wretched! You have said you loved me-will you break my heart?"

"I am resolved," she said, almost sternly; for she feared that her strength was yielding to his misery; then, as her heart smote her for the words, "Oh, Lord Clarence!" she exclaimed, “forgive me!" and she held out her hand to him.

"You do not know what love is," he said, rudely. For an instant he held the hand she gave him, then hastily dropped it, and hurried

away.

She made no effort to recall him; but, sitting down where he had left her, laid her head upon her hands.

Isabel," said a voice, low and sad, beside her. She started up. "I am come again, Isabel, because I would not part from you thus. I cannot judge what you have done. I may have been harsh; but you must forgive me, for I know not what I do; only, Isabel, we are parting, perhaps, for ever, and I would anger. Wherever I am-wherever I go—I never, never can forget you, Isabel, dearest Isabel!"

not go

in

"Go!" she repeated, with ready alarm, catching at his words; "where are you going? what do you mean to do?"

"I cannot tell-I cannot think now. God bless you, Isabel! You shall hear from me, unless....unless I hear from you. Is there no hope?" He fixed his eyes fondly, anxiously, earnestly, on her face; those clear blue eyes, so bright in joy, so mournful now, as if to read some sign of relenting.

But, slowly and resolutely closing her eyes, to shut out that imploring gaze, she shook her head.

He wrung her hand, and was gone.

CHAPTER XV.

Oh! star of strength, I see thee stand,
And smile upon my pain;

Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand,
And I am strong again.

LONGFELLOW.

The slow days passed away. The weariness and desolation of sorrow came over Isabel's heart; but she had motives for concealment, and she tried, to the uttermost, to be as gay as she had lately been. If she did not succeed, it created no uneasiness. Mr. and Mrs. Denison watched her anxiously, but not fearfully; they confidently expected that their wishes for her were about to be fulfilled.

One evening, about five days after her interview with Clarence, as she came home from a dinner to which she had dragged her weary body and wearier mind, a letter was put into

her hands; she hurried with it to her room— at any rate, she should hear from Clarence She had begun to dread that he would go without a word or sign. The letter was as follows :

once more.

Dover Street, Tuesday.

I said you should hear from me again, when my plans were arranged. They are settled now. I am going far, far away. Do not think me rash. I have thought much-I have not done it hastily; but so it must be. I know what life was before I knew you, Isabel-how wearisome, how insipid-I know what it will be now, when I have known and lost you-what-I dare not think. I cannot bear it. Sir William Seymour has offered to take me on his staff to India. We sail on Saturday. Again, I say, do not think me rash, or selfish. This is no new idea; once or twice before now I have been on the point of going there. God bless you, dearest Isabel! May I once more call you so? Forgive me, if I was harsh or violent; I did not

-I do not blame you. I have been too presumptuous; I had not a doubt—not a fear— I thought our hearts were clear as day to each other-it was a bright dream; but it is passed -I was unworthy of such happiness.

I try to think of you, happy with another; but I cannot do it. Forgive me, Isabel .... [Here followed some lines carefully scratched out.]

I would not give you pain-I would conceal from you how miserable I am; but I am selfish, and I must have you know, Isabel, how I have loved you, and how my heart is broken -unless....sometimes I have wild visions that you will relent—that you will recall me -that we shall be happy-happier than ever! If it were so—but no.... I scarcely know what I say. God bless you, dearest Isabel! I shall not forget you in that far land to which

I am going.

CLARENCE BROKE.

She pressed her hand to her eyes-to her heart-after reading this letter; then sate down to answer it.