"I was proud--too proud. Yes it must be so,--he often said I was proud, but he shall say so no longer; to him at least, I will be a different being. Even if he never loved me, I will make him love me now--I will be all softness, gentleness, without a sign of the burning passions I feel. But should he speak of her?" and Frances tossed back her hair from her forehead impatiently, "yes, even then I will smother all pride, all angry feeling. I will win him yet, if he is to be won; no obstacle shall stop me. He shall learn to think me warm-hearted and generous, though to others I still seem cold and proud. Yes, I will rouse myself; I will no longer despond. I will cast aside all doubts and dismal forebodings. I will triumph over her yet, and trample her under foot; I wonder I could be so foolish as to weep," and, hurriedly rising, she bathed her eyes, so as to efface all trace of the emotion she had undergone, and then once more summoned Jane to her presence. And Amy? She went at once to her own room, sad and heavy at heart, and pondered long and deeply on all that Frances had said, and dreaded to think what might be the end of her plots and machinations. She foresaw she would leave no stone unturned to gain her end; and what might she not urge, what stories invent? Her hope,--all hope of softening Frances' heart and exonerating herself from blame, had failed utterly. The interview from which she had hoped so much had done harm, and evidently roused angry, jealous feelings, which Amy would believe and persuade herself there was no foundation for. She would not allow, for a moment, that Charles Linchmore had a thought for her, and as to loving her, that could not be. Amy even felt vexed and angry, and indignant with Frances, for so insisting upon it. She wondered what Frances would tell him, when next they met; and could not help feeling an undefinable dread--a sensation of coming evil. Suppose she should tell him that, though unsought, Amy's love was his, the bare supposition of what he would think brought tears into her eyes, but she hastily brushed them away, for Amy was not one to give way to needless sorrow, and tried to smile and think how foolish it was to weep, when there was yet no cause for it. Yet, as she arrived at this conclusion, Frances' evident dislike to her, combined with her passionate, revengeful temper rose up before her; and what might they not lead her to do; "and he," murmured Amy mournfully, "does not know half she is capable of, and will believe anything she says of me. How I wish we had never met! How I wish she had never loved him!" Poor Amy! she scarce knew what she wished, or what to think. One moment she was confident, at another she doubted, and trembled she scarce knew why. CHAPTER V. DOUBTS AND FEARS. "Why so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale?