'Perhaps not quite exactly yet, Robert,' replied Ellinor, not knowing really what to say, and feeling some shame at the part she was acting; 'but think of his position, and the place he can give me--a poor, almost penniless, girl--in society.' 'And in that place you expect to be happy?' 'I shall have substantial grounds for happiness, and I think, Robert dear, you wish me well.' 'Heaven knows I do, though you are learning fast to forget. Search your heart, Ellinor,' he continued, piteously; 'think over our past, darling--of our mutually anticipated future, in which each seemed to see only the other. Against reason, hope, and all I hear I cannot forget, and hence I love you--love you still, Ellinor.' He stretched out his hands to her, and his eyes grew very dim. For a moment she was tempted to throw herself upon his loving breast, and there sob out her remorse and seek his forgiveness; but the demons of pride and ambition ruled her heart too strongly now, and she withheld or crushed the emotions of pity and generosity that so fleetly inspired her. When that emotion came again they were far apart, and it came too late--too late! How this last meeting _might_ have ended it is difficult to say; but Robert Wodrow, thinking it was useless to protract the agony he felt, pressed his tremulous lips to her right hand, and, without trusting himself to look again in her face, swiftly withdrew, and quitted the house. Poor Robert! She was indeed sorry for him--sorry that the old friendly relations, as she strove to deem them now, should be broken up. 'They had been such chums'--Robert, more justly, deemed it 'lovers'--in the dear past time that would never--could never--come again! Better a thousand times, if it was to be, that they parted now, and that it was over--all over and done with, thought Ellinor, after a time. Amid all this there was a strange and conflicting--a mysterious foreboding in her mind, that by casting off the honest love of Robert Wodrow she might be entailing future misery on herself. The last appeal had been made, and, though in vain, young Wodrow did not regret that he had made it, but he feared that Ellinor might be following a shadow and missing the substance. So true it is that 'the golden moments in the stream of life rush past us, and we see nothing but sand; that angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone.' CHAPTER XIV. GRETCHEN AND FAUST. 'And you have quarrelled with poor Robert?' said Mary, somewhat reproachfully, to her sister. 'Nay--not quarrelled, exactly,' replied Ellinor. 'What, then?' 'Agreed to part.' 'After--_all_; oh, Ellinor!' 'All what?' 'Well, you know what I mean.' 'We have always been in the habit of calling each other by our Christian names, and by pet names, too, such as Robbie and Ellie--a bad system--and--and--in fact, you know, Mary, we regarded each other rather as brother and sister than as--as----'