"I don't know. But one thing I can tell you; if you value your peace and happiness, let not your heart anchor its hopes on him. Look upon all that is past as mere gallantry on his side, and the natural drawing of youth to youth on yours. Come this way," drawing her into the sitting-room, where the dying embers still communicated warmth to the apartment, and shed a dim, lurid light on their faces. "Though my head aches as if red-hot wires were passing through it, I must guard you at once against this folly. You know so little of the world, Mittie, you don't understand the manners of young men, especially when first released from college. There is a chivalry about them which converts every young lady into an angel, and they address them as such. Their attentions seldom admit a more serious construction. Besides--but no matter--I have said enough, I hope, to rouse the pride of your sex, and to induce you to banish Clinton from your thoughts. Good-night." Though he tried to speak carelessly, he was evidently much agitated. "Good-night," he again repeated, but Mittie stood motionless as a statue, looking steadfastly on the glimmering embers. "Go up stairs," he cried, taking her cold hand, and leading her to the door, "you will be frozen if you stay here much longer." "I am frozen already," she answered, shuddering, "good night." The next morning, when the housemaid went into her room to kindle a fire, she was startled by the appearance of a muffled figure seated at the window, with the head leaning against the casement; the face was as white as the snow on the landscape. It was Mittie. She had not laid her head upon the pillow the whole live-long night. CHAPTER XII. "Beautiful tyrant--fiend angelical-- Dove-feathered raven!--wolf-devouring lamb-- Oh, serpent heart--hid in a flowering cave, Did e'er deceit dwell in so fair a mansion!"--_Shakspeare._ "Pray for the dead. Why for the dead, who are at rest? Pray for the living, in whose breast The struggle between right and wrong Is raging terrible and strong."--_Longfellow._ "Are you willing to remain with her alone, all night?" asked the young doctor. Helen glanced towards the figure reclining on the bed, whose length appeared almost supernatural, and whose appearance was rendered more gloomy by the dun-colored counterpane that enveloped it--and though her countenance changed, she answered, "Yes." "Have you no fears that the old superstitions of your childhood will resume their influence over your imagination, in the stillness of the midnight hour?" "I wish to subject myself to the trial. I am not quite sure of myself. I know there is no real danger, and it is time that I should battle single-handed with all imaginary foes." "But supposing your parents should object?"