"Charley! Charley! you shall not so defame yourself!" cried Ida bursting into tears. "You--the kindest--most generous of men! you _are_ worthy of her! Oh! I wish it could be!" "Hush! hush! I would not have it otherwise. I came home last summer, and saw them together without a pang of selfish regret; and gloried in my subjugation of a passion their betrothal made sinful, until our ride to 'the Castle.' My arm saved her from mutilation or death, and instead of thanksgiving, sprang up a horrible envy, that I had rescued her for _him_. It was momentary, but the repentance was bitter. I abhor myself when I think of it. I have never fancied since that I did not love her. I know it as well now that another month will make her his bride, as I did when hope was highest. Poor Lynn! it grieved him to his dying day!" Silence and tears was a fitting reply to this narration. It came to Ida, like sudden death to a festival; producing not only sorrow and dismay, but a trembling insecurity--an awful whisper--"Who next?" Did human love, then, always terminate in misery? Was there no remedy? She wanted Charley to speak again, and say that he had some source of comfort; or at least, strength for the last, greatest trial. His words put this hope to flight. "I have borne as much as I can;--if it be cowardly to avert further suffering, I am not brave. I have business in the West next month, which could, but shall not be postponed. John will not know of it in time to provide a substitute. Arthur will be disappointed; I would spare him this trifling pain, if I were certain that I should not give him more by remaining. I shall not wear this after the marriage--I may become a castaway without it, for aught I know. When Lynn died, I said, 'My secret is buried with him.' I have committed what the Machiavelis of the day would call an unwise act," added he, smiling; "'consigned it to the keeping of a woman'--but I have no fears for its safety with you. Do not let it prey upon your spirits. I would not caution a less sympathetic nature. Be happy, Ida,--it is your manifest destiny; and I am still disinterested enough to 'rejoice with those who do rejoice.' The sun is setting--you shall not go to the house with that woe-begone face. Smile! or I don't stir." He laughed at her attempt. "Rather hysterical,--with that sob treading upon its heels; but it will do. Come, sister!" Ida could have cried more heartily at an expression and tone, that reminded her of Lynn; but he was resolute in not allowing it. Carry was upon the piazza. "My dear friends!" cried she, running to meet them. "Where _have_ you been! here's a house full of company, and I have sent scouts in every direction. Did not you hear or see them?" "'I heard the owls scream, and the crickets cry;'" said Charley. "Who is here, that we can prefer to each other's society?"