"Thank you, Miss Neville. Then I will--must hope. Why should I not win your love, when I love you so very dearly; how dearly you know not? I will wait patiently; but strive to win you I must. In my dreary, sad life it is the one bright star to lead me on to better things. I have trifled away life--hated it at times; but now I will begin to live. You are going home, Miss Neville, let this tale of my love be as if it had never been. I will be content to take my chance with others; let us be friends again, as hitherto. I promise no word of love shall ever pass my lips. When you know me better, and, perhaps, judge me better than you do now, then once again I will ask you to be my wife; and then, if you reject me--well. Then we must never meet again; but while your heart is free I must hope. Shall it be so?" he asked. Alas! what could she say? She could not tell him her love was another's unasked and unsought for, when she was striving to shut it out of her heart for ever. She could only murmur that she did not love him, and could give no hope. While he, thinking her love yet unwon, believed it might be his in the end, and that he had told her of his love too soon. "You will not refuse my request, Miss Neville, will you?" he asked, sorrowfully. "I do not like to refuse," she replied, "and yet I doubt if I ought to grant it. It will only make both you and me unhappy, because it can lead but to the same result as now." "I dare not think so," he said. "Surely God will be more merciful than to leave my life an utter blank. No mother's love have I ever known; mine has been, and is a dreary, unloved lot. Is it a wonder my heart clings to you, loves you so madly? and yet you will not even let me try and win you; but would shut out all hope. If you loved another; then--then indeed I would not plead; but, as it is--it is scarcely kind, Miss Neville; forgive me for saying so." "Believe me, I do not wish to be unkind," faltered Amy. "I think my decision would have been the kindest in the end. But enough; it shall be as you wish, only you must not blame me hereafter." "Neither now nor ever!" And so they parted, both sorrowful at heart, both feeling the future which seemed to loom so gloomily for each; neither daring to look beyond the shadow even now flitting across their path. Little did Frances Strickland think while loitering in the school-room awaiting Amy, that the very meeting she had come to prevent had taken place. Just as she was growing impatient, and wondering at the unwonted delay, Miss Neville entered. "I have been waiting to make my adieux," she said, "having heard you were going away, and I did not like you should go without a word of farewell." Amy was quite unprepared for this, and looked her surprise. "Do we part friends, Miss Neville?" "I can scarcely say yes," replied Amy, "our acquaintance has been but short, and--and--you have never liked me, Miss Strickland; if you recollect you almost told me so once."