"Are," said I, "I hope, not 'have been.'" "Well," said she, "read the letter, and then tell me who has been 'dismissed.'" I shrank from reading it; but Alice was determined to know all. It was dated the day before I left New York. "Dear Josie," it read, "I have told you so many times that I love you that it is an old story to you; yet I must say it once more. Until that night when we brought your father home, I was never able to understand why you would never say definitely yes or no to me; but I felt that you could not be expected to understand my feeling that the best years of our lives were wasting--you are so much younger than I--and so I hoped on. Sometimes I feared that somebody else stood in the way, and do fear it now, but that alone would have been a much simpler thing, and of that I could not complain. But on that fearful night you said something which hurt me more than anything else could, because it was an accusation of which I could not clear myself in the court of my own conscience--except so far as to say that I never dreamed of doing your father anything but good. Surely, surely you must feel this! "Since that time, however, you have been so kind to me that I have become sure that you see that terrible tragedy as I do, and acquit me of all blame, except that of blindly setting in motion the machinery which did the awful deed. This is enough for you to forgive, God knows; but I have thought lately that you had forgiven it. You have been very kind and good to me, and your presence and influence have made me look at things in a different way from that of years ago, and I am now doing things which ought to be credited to you, so far as they are good. As for the bad, I must bear the blame myself!" Thus far Alice had read aloud. "Don't, don't," said Josie, hiding her face. "Don't read it aloud, please!" "But now I am writing, not to explain anything which has taken place, but to set me right as to the future. You gave me reason to think, when we met, that I might have my answer. Things which I cannot explain have occurred, which may turn out very evilly for me, and for any one connected with me. Therefore, until this state of things passes, I shall not see you. I write this, not that I think you will care much, but that you may not believe that I have changed in my feelings toward you. If my time ever comes, and I believe it will, and that before very long, you will find me harder to dispose of without an answer than I have been in the past. I shall claim you in spite of every foe that may rise up to keep you from me. You may change, but I shall not. "'Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds.' And mine will not alter. J. R. E." "My dear," said Alice very humbly, "I beg your pardon. I have misjudged you. Will you forgive me?" Josie came to take her letter, and, in lieu of other answer, stood with her arm about Alice's waist. "And now," said Alice, "have you no other confidences for us?"