The young girl was seized with a violent trembling while he was speaking; she shook and shivered with nervousness and excitement, as if some icy blast from a snow-clad mountain had swept down upon her, chilling her through. A bright hectic flush tinged either cheek, and her eyes, no longer listless, glowed with a brilliancy that was almost dazzling. Never while in perfect health had Paul Tressalia seen her so strangely beautiful as she was at this moment, and yet it was with a beauty that made his heart tremble with a terrible fear. With almost the impulse of a child, she reached out both her hands to him as he ceased speaking. But he knew instinctively that it was not a gesture of assent, though he clasped them involuntarily, and started, to find how hot and feverish they were. “Mr. Tressalia,” she said, excitedly, “I know how true and noble you are, and I know, too, that you love me with a deep, pure love. I know that you would be very tender and indulgent to me, and never allow me to know a sorrow that you could shield me from. But I cannot be your wife—I cannot be anybody’s wife—and I should only add sin to sin if I should grant your request, for I can never for a moment cease to love Earle in a way that I should not. It is that that is eating my life away—let me confess it to you, and perhaps it will help me to bear it better. I know that I ought to trample upon every tendril of affection that is reaching out after him, but I cannot; my love is stronger than I, and this constant inward warfare is fast wearing me out. Oh, if you would simply be my friend, and let me talk to you freely like this, and never speak to me of love again, it would be such a comfort to me.” She paused a moment for breath, and then continued: “I can trust you; I have confidence in you as I have in no other in this land. Mr. Tressalia, _will_ you be my friend, strong and true, and _only that_, for the time that I, may need you?” There was intense yearning in her look and tone. She did need just such a friend, strong and protecting, as he would be, if he could have the strength to endure it. She could not trust her father; her heart had recoiled from him ever since that day when so much of his evil nature had been revealed to her, and she had no one in whom to confide. Day and night her busy, excited brain went over all the horror of that last interview with Earle, and day and night she constantly fought the obstinate love in her heart. It was, as she had said, wearing her life away, and if she could but have some one in whom she could confide, it would be a comfort to her. But could he stay in her presence, receive her confidences, hear her daily talk of Earle and her blighted hopes, and make no sign of his own sorrow and bitter disappointment? “Be her friend, strong and true, and _only that_!”