“John,” she gasped, seizing his hands convulsively, “hear me! Muriel told me you wanted to see me, but it is I that want to see you—to talk with you—to ask your compassion and forgiveness.” “Emily!—what!—forgiveness!—my forgiveness!”— She broke in upon his stammered words, wildly, almost fiercely. “Hush? do not speak! Let me speak,” she cried. “Let me atone for my baseness to you by my self-degradation—my confession—my repentance”— “Emily—Emily—silence!” cried Harrington, shocked beyond expression! “I cannot hear you speak of yourself so. Baseness? In you? Never! All the world would not make me believe it—you yourself”— “John! hear me! hear me!” she wailed, her face agonized, and the wild tears streaming—“hear me, I implore you! I have deceived you. I have beguiled you. I have misled you—I have made you think I love you”— “No, Emily, you have not. You have won my affection, but it is the affection of a brother who will be a brother to you forever. You have made me think you love me, but with the love of a friend and sister. No more.” She dropped his hands, and receding a pace, looked at him with a hushed face, on which the tears lay wet, but ceased to flow. The solemn and fond avowal sank like dew on the burning passion of her brain. For a full minute she looked at him. “Harrington!” she said slowly, in a deep still voice from which the tremor had gone. “Is it possible! Can this be so! My whole attitude to you—my court to you—my words, my looks, my actions—all that misled others—that made them think I loved you—that deceived them utterly.” “They never deceived me, Emily. I looked upon them only as the tokens of your friendship, of your sisterly regard. No more.” She gazed at him in wondering awe. Suddenly a wild light broke upon her face, and she clasped her hands. “Oh, man without vanity!” she passionately cried, “simple, honorable heart—nature unspotted by the world, and knowing nothing base—how am I worthy to live in your presence! The arts that would have flattered the self-love of the moths that flutter round me, were powerless on you, and untempted, unelated, unsuspecting, you took my treacherous homage as only the token of the love of a sister and a friend!” The words trembled away in a rapture of fervor. Ceasing, her head sank upon her bosom, and her face was wet with a solemn rain of tears. Moved beyond speech, and sadly understanding all, Harrington stood with his flushed face mute, a sweet thrill melting through his frame, and his eyes were dim. “It is over,” she sorrowfully faltered. “The worst is over. There is more to be said—much more, but I cannot say it now. Not now—not now.” She stood in deep dejection, her head bowed, her hands clasped and drooping, and her eyelids almost closed. “I am very humble,” she slowly murmured, in a voice like the dropping of tears. “I stand in the Valley of Humiliation, and the Valley of the Shadow, lies before me. Alone, I enter it—forsaken—alone.”