Walter was wealthy, and every one congratulated me on my good fortune. Little I cared for his worldly goods, and with all the romance of a young disinterested spirit, I sighed that he was not poor—but he rejoiced over his wealth for my sake, he said, and longed with impatience to release me from what he deemed degrading thraldom. He implored that I should no more return to Penley-Hill—that I should remain with my cousins—they united their entreaties, but I refused; no, until our marriage, I preferred my residence at the school. I represented to him that it was not disagreeable to me, my pursuits were intellectual, and it was better for me to continue my studies. This was the only cause for dispute between us, and I felt more pained than I was willing to confess when I discovered that he rather looked down on my position in life; but his love, freely and fervently expressed, for my own self, soothed my wounded feelings, and we again parted—I for Penley-Hill, he for the gay metropolis, where he was to commence the study of a profession, which would occupy two years—two long years—at the expiration of which we were to be married. That winter was a long one to me, for Clara had left the school at the close of the preceding session—her education completed, she was to make her debut that season in society. But her letters and Walter’s, cheered the hours which would have otherwise hung heavily. I was exceedingly anxious they should meet, and looked forward with delight to Walter’s residence in the city where Clara’s parent’s resided. They did meet—in the same circle of fashionable, wealthy families did they mingle, and I was charmed at the rapturous description my friend and my lover gave me of each other. How could they fail being pleased, one with the other I said, and I pressed their letters with transport to my bosom. That either should prove false, never entered my mind, and long, long was it before I opened my eyes with fearful certainty to the truth fatal to my happiness. The constrained, short letters I received from both, I attributed to every cause but the right one. Clara was so occupied in a whirl of dissipation I thought, as to be unable to write differently. Walter was hurried in his studies, I said self-consolingly; he was vainly endeavoring to shorten by intense application the tedious two years probation.