The five or six months that elapsed from the time Clinton became particular in his attentions to Miss Edgar, until he formally declared himself a lover, passed with Margaret Herbert in one long-continued and wild struggle with her feelings. Conscious of her error, and madly conscious, because conviction had come too late, she wrestled vigorously, but in vain, with a passion that, but for her own folly, would have met a free and full return. Lizzy spoke to her of Clinton's marked attentions, but did not know how, like heavy and painful strokes, every word she uttered fell upon her heart. She saw that Margaret was far from being happy, and often tenderly urged her to tell the cause, but little dreamed of the real nature of her sufferings. At last Lizzy told her, with a glowing cheek, that Clinton had owned his love for her, and claimed her hand in marriage. For some moments after this communication was made, Margaret could offer no reply. Her heart trembled faintly in her bosom and almost ceased to beat; but she rallied herself, and concealed what she felt under warm congratulations. Lizzy was deceived, though in her friend's manner there was something that she could not fully comprehend. "You must be my bridesmaid," said the happy girl, a month or two afterwards. "Why not choose some one else?" asked Margaret. "Because I love you better than any friend I have," replied Lizzy, putting an arm around the neck of Margaret and kissing her. "No, no; I cannot--I cannot!" was the unexpressed thought of Margaret--while something like a shudder went over her. But the eyes of her friend did not penetrate the sad secret of her heart. "Come, dear, say yes. Why do you hesitate? I would hardly believe myself married if you were not by my side when the nuptial pledge was given." "It shall be as you wish," replied Margaret. "Perhaps you misunderstood me," said Lizzy, playfully; "I was not speaking of my funeral, but of my wedding." This sportive sally gave Margaret an opportunity to recover herself, which she did promptly; and never once, from that time until the wedding day of her friend arrived, did she by look or word betray what was in her heart. Intense was the struggle that went on in the mind of Margaret Hubert. But it was of no avail; she loved Clinton with a wild intensity that was only the more fervid from its hopelessness. But pride and a determined will concealed what neither could destroy.