The red blood mounted to the lady’s brow, and her eye flashed as she took a small shell-comb from her hair, and the long, brown curls that it had confined fell over her neck and shoulders. Then pushing back the ringlets from her forehead, and placing her finger upon a small scar upon her temple, she said slowly—“Frederick Gordon—do you know me now?” The young man had not moved since he had last spoken, but remained with his eyes fixed upon the carpet. At the lady’s words, however, he looked up suddenly, and brow, cheek and lip grew white—white as those of the dead. Then covering his face with his hand, as if to shut out some hateful vision, he exclaimed—“Lily Grey—Lily Grey—have you come even here to torment me?” “She is even here,” was the quiet reply, “and I presume it is unnecessary for me to say that the man whose pretended love for Lily Grey was a ‘passing fancy,’ a ‘mere flirtation’—the man who for the sake of paltry gold so cruelly deserted the young being he had won, without a farewell word or line, can never claim the hand of Elizabeth Munro. Nay, hear me, Mr. Gordon,” she added, as he would have interrupted her, “entreaties are useless, I can never be your wife, but I wish to explain some things which are probably mysteries to you. My name is Elizabeth Grey Munro. My father always called me his Lily, and by that pet name, too, I was called by Mr. and Mrs. Mason. When I went into the country to visit them it was a childish freak of mine to be called by my middle name, and be known as simple Lily Grey, rather than as the heiress Elizabeth Munro. Had you called to see me before your sudden departure, all would have been explained; but you chose to do otherwise, and of course I could put but one construction upon your conduct—that you were merely trifling with one whom you supposed your inferior in point of wealth, and that, finding you had gone rather farther than you intended, you wished to get rid of the affair as speedily as possible. I do not hesitate now to say that I once loved you, Frederick Gordon, as you did not deserve to be loved, but that passed—passed with the knowledge of your unworthiness. When we met in the ball-room I saw at once that you did not recognize me—five years had changed the young and timid girl who blushed at your approach into the woman, calm and self-possessed as yourself. You were blinded, too, by the fashion and glitter around me, and, in short, you looked not for Lily Grey in Elizabeth Munro.” “Oh, Lily, forgive, forgive,” implored Frederick, throwing himself at her feet. “For sweet mercy’s sake forgive and love me again as in other days, I have erred deeply—deeply—but I have repented also.” Tears rolled down the fair girl’s cheeks as she replied, at the same time kindly extending her hand, “I do, I do forgive, for the sake of the love I once bore you—but that love I can never give you again. The chord is broken and will never vibrate more.”