I turned hot and shame-faced, and rubbing my head upon her hands like an affectionate young puppy, I muttered confusedly, “that, if she pleased, I’d rather not!” But she smiled; not her family smile, but a sad, slow smile, and stroked my hair and went on gently: “It is right that you should know. He, the man of the miniature, was to have been my--” She stopped; she swallowed hard at something. She moistened her lips and started again: “He--at least, I was to have been his wife! I wore his ring--I--I--” Suddenly her eyes opened wide on mine, and she said with a sort of rush: “Child, child! Heaven will have to be a very glorious place to make me forget the happiness I knew with him! and I loved him so! oh, I loved him so!” In a very transport of sympathy I broke in: “But he was good, I am sure he was! and he don’t look as if he were dead?” She smiled kindly at me, and fully understood my blundering, hurried words: “Yes, dear,” she said, “you are right; he is not dead, and he is good! A little hard, perhaps--” Her eyes closed again. “Yes, perhaps, a little hard, but--well, men must be hard or they cannot succeed! We were very happy, dear! Papa--” Her brows drew together quickly for a moment;--“papa gave his consent. He--Roger--had a noble voice; we sang together at the church, we rode, we planned--we planned--” A pause, a long, long, shivering sigh, and then: “Papa changed his mind. I was not of age--even had I been, I had been bred up to such strict obedience--I--oh, I don’t know!--but Roger, he could not bear dependence on another man’s whims for two long years! He was one of the college professors; he needed quiet, regularity, positively settled plans, or the quality of his work might suffer! Papa broke his promise--he gave no reason. Roger said ‘he was jealous of us.’ I only know he broke his promise! Roger would not wait! Father commanded--he demanded! They were two angry men--I stood between them, dear--and I am crushed!” “Oh,” I cried, “he did not love you hard enough, dear Miss Linda! What was enduring two years of Mr. Hyler compared to enduring a whole life without _you_?” It was not exactly a polite way to speak of the reverend gentleman or of her lover, and she laid her finger on my lips, as she resumed: “Papa does not understand--time has passed--but, oh, child, child!--each day of my life--I lose my love--each day the pain of it--is fresh and new! Had papa known of the picture to-day--he might have understood--he might have--suffered remorse--and he is old and--and--‘As we forgive those who trespass against us!’”