"I received a note, but it was very short, though it was in Emma's handwriting. She had not been well, was her excuse, and so could not be present at the ball. As for the offer I had been kind enough to make her, it was far above her deserts, and so must be gratefully declined. Then came a burst of something like contrition, and the prayer that I would not seek to make her alter her mind, as her decision was irrevocable. Added to this was one line from her father, to the effect that interesting as our studies were, he felt compelled to tell me he should have no further time to give to them at present, and so bade me a kindly adieu. Was there ever a more complete dismissal? I felt as if I had been thrust out of the house." Frank, who was nothing if not sympathetic, nodded quickly, but did not break into those open expressions of indignation which his friend had evidently anticipated. The truth was, he was too busy considering the affair, and asking himself what part Hermione had taken in it, and whether all its incongruities were not in some way due to her. He was so anxious to assure himself that this was not so, that he finally asked: "And was that the end? Did you never see any of them again?" "I did not wish to," was the answer. "I had already thought of trying my fortunes in the West, and when this letter came, it determined me. In three weeks I had left Marston as I thought forever, but I was not successful in the West." "And you will be here," observed Frank. "I think so," said Edgar, and became suddenly silent. Frank looked at him a long time and then said quietly: "I am glad you love her still." Edgar, flushing, opened his lips, but the other would not listen to any denial. "If you had not loved her, you would not have come back to Marston, and if you did not love her still, you would not pluck roses from her wall at midnight." "I was returning from a patient," objected Edgar, shortly. "I know, but you _stopped_. You need not blush to own it, for, as I say, I think it a good thing that you have not forgotten Miss Cavanagh." And not being willing to explain himself further, Frank rose and sauntered towards the door. "We have talked well into the night," he remarked; "supposing we let up now, and continue our conversation to-morrow." "I am willing to let up," acquiesced Edgar, "but why continue to-morrow? Nothing can be gained by fruitless conjectures on this subject, while much peace of mind may be lost by them." "Well, perhaps you are right," quoth Frank. XIII. FRESH DOUBTS. Frank was recalled to business the next day by the following letter from Flatbush: DEAR MR. ETHERIDGE: