most men in a similar predicament, he adopted a middle course, and quieted his scruples by committing the trust to another. One evening, just at twilight, Mary was in a small apartment communicating with the drawing-room, when her father approached in close conversation with Ernest Melvyn. They took a seat in the parlor, and, as the door was ajar, Mary could not avoid hearing her own name several times repeated. She was about entering the room when she heard her father say, “I wish, Ernest, you would use your influence with Mary. I am sure she prefers Mr. Walton, and it is only a woman’s whim which prevents her acceptance of him.” “Are you sure she is attached to Walton?” asked Ernest, in a low and hurried tone. “Oh, I cannot be mistaken about it; she likes him better than any lover she has ever had, for she confessed as much to me yesterday. It is full time she came to some decision, and I wish she would accept him. He is exactly the kind of person whom I should have selected for her, and I am sure he will make her happy. She is greatly influenced by your opinions, Ernest, and I really wish you would advise her to marry Walton.” Mary listened breathlessly for Ernest’s answer. After a long pause she heard him say, “Certainly, sir, if you wish it, I will do so.” Mary staid for no more. Hurrying to her room, she flung herself on the floor in an agony of excited feeling. The secret of her heart was now revealed to her, and the anguish which overwhelmed her proved how fondly she had cherished the delusion. She now knew what before she more than suspected; she no longer doubted that her heart and happiness had long been in the keeping of the modest and gentle Ernest. But with this knowledge came the startling fact that Ernest loved her not. “He could coldly promise his influence to give me to another—me, whom he has cherished from childhood—me, who have loved him from my very infancy! Yes, his is but a brother’s love, and never shall my nature be disgraced by the disclosure of an unrequited passion. It shall be plucked away even if entwined with the very fibres of my heart.” Such were the reflections of the unhappy girl, as the violence of her emotions subsided. Could she have seen the bitter struggle in the breast of Ernest—could she have divined the hidden agony of his spirit when he controlled his voice to utter those cold words—could she have known the sudden wretchedness of that moment which first revealed to him the depth and breadth of his own absorbing passion, she would have decided differently. One word then would have secured the happiness of both; but the word was _unspoken_, and the destiny of both was sealed. That very night Charles Walton renewed his suit to Mary and _was accepted_—the next morning Mr. Allison informed Ernest that his influence was no longer necessary in the matter. The next week preparations for the marriage were commenced.