Miss Drake; and, anxious not to delay the conversation any longer, he begged Miss Drake to go and sit with Juliet for a little while. As she left the room, and Mr. Harcourt sate down beside her, Evelyn blushed deeply, and bent her head over her work. Anxiety and expectation had given her a timidity with him which she had not felt before; and she now wondered at herself for the words which, in her excitement, she had used without thought and without embarrassment.

"I wished to speak to you, Evelyn," he began, gravely," upon a subject painful and yet most interesting to me. I have not thanked you yet for what you said to me on Monday; but not because I did not feel it deeply. I dared not then think of it, far less speak of it, for my mind was agitated with many feelings; but now I have thought of what you said, and pondered upon it; and I come to thank you for words, whose memory will bless me all my life."

He paused; but she did not raise her head, and, after a moment, he continued :—

"I will not say that the ideas your words

suggested presented themselves to me then for the first time; but I have struggled against them, and never should they have passed my lips, had I dared to trust myself to listen to your kind and comforting voice; but I dared not, Evelyn. I feared that my secret heart would treasure up a hope which I knew could not and ought not to be realized. And now you understand me; you see that such words must be painful to me, and you will not repeat them-will you, dearest?"

She looked up with a varying cheek, and her breath came quickly; and a momentary thought glanced through his mind, that it might, perhaps, be love, and not compassion only, which had made her speak; but he struggled against it.

"You do not think me ungrateful, Evelyn. Perhaps," he continued, with a faint smile, "if I had delayed this conversation much longer-if I had allowed myself more time to think, I might not have been able to resist; and yet, dear Evelyn, I wish your happiness. above every thing; and I could not be happy even-even with you for my wife, while I

felt that your happiness was sacrificed to mine."

66

Why, sacrificed?" she said, looking hurriedly up, with a deep blush; "why should not I be happy too?"

"Because you do not know yourself," he said, gently. "You feel for me-you think how lonely and desolate I shall be, if my child is taken from me, and your kind heart longs to comfort me; but this is not love, dearest, and I must not let you deceive yourself. You are young, very young — and, though sorrow and disappointment have come near to you, the shadow will pass away, and you will be bright and happy again; and you will love again your crushed affections will revive, and you will love, and love more, and far more deeply than in your early days....."

"I do," she said, raising her head once more, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, "far, far more ;" and again she bent her face over her work.

"Hush! Evelyn, hush!" he said; "do not tempt me more than I can bear. Would it be right, would it be fitting, that this blighted

heart, which, even with the blessing of your love, I dare not say otherwise, Evelyn, would be blighted still-would it be right that it should link itself with your bright, young spirit? No, Evelyn, that must not be. I myself will guard you from it, dearest!"

“Will you guard me from my own happiness?" she said, looking at him with tearful eyes; "you know that I have always loved you-always, more than any one in the world -yes, always, though I knew it not till now. If your heart is blighted, it will make me happy to cheer it. If you are sad, it will be my happiness to comfort you; and, if you should be happy, should not I be happy too?" and her sweet, bright smile played over her face.

Could he resist such words? could he doubt the expression of her dark, loving eyes, as she turned them upon him? No-strange as it might be, he felt that Evelyn loved him.

CHAPTER XXIX.

The trembling light went out in ecstasy.

Anon.

It was a cold, cheerless January morning; the snow lay on the ground, even in Italy; and the few struggling beams of sunshine rather added to than diminished the dreariness of the scene.

Those pale and languid beams shone into Juliet Harcourt's room, and fell upon the wasted form of the dying girl. They were the last that she was ever destined to see on earth.

She was half raised in her bed, and supported by cushions; a brilliant flush was upon her cheek, but it was not the flush of life; and the brightness that shone in her large, dark eye was the brightness of another world than this. She was glancing, with something of excitement, round the room; but