Frances advanced and looked eagerly around. "I do not see him," she said. "Hark!" said Anne, "What is that?" It was the hasty canter of a horse's feet. In another moment Charles dashed past. Anne remembered the last time he had gone away. How she and Frances had stood together at the same window, even as they did now; only with this difference, that then, Frances' face was the triumphant one. Now they had changed places. Anne could not--did not pity her, as she drew near and took hold of her arm. "He has gone to tell Miss Neville he loves her," said she cruelly, as Frances looked enquiringly in her face. Frances paled to an almost death-like whiteness as she grasped, "God forgive you if he has. I never will!" CHAPTER IV. TOO LATE. "So mournfully she gaz'd on him, As if her heart would break; Her silence more upbraided him, Than all her tongue might speak! She could do nought but gaze on him, For answer she had none, But tears that could not be repress'd, Fell slowly, one by one. Alas! that life should be so short-- So short and yet so sad; Alas! that we so late are taught To prize the time we had!" CHARLES SWAIN. It was the evening after Amy had pledged herself to Robert Vavasour. The sun had slowly faded away, and twilight threw but a faint light into the room where she sat close to her mother's feet. Amy had been reading to Mrs. Neville and the book still open; lay in her lap, but it was too dark to read now, too dark for her mother to see her face, so Amy drew closer still ere she broached the subject nearest her heart. There was no shrinking or timidity, as there might have been had her love been wholly his, whose wife she had promised to become. "Mamma, did Mr. Vavasour ever speak to you of his love for me?" The words were spoken firmly, though almost in a whisper. "He did, Amy; and he also said you had refused his love." "I knew so little of him then, that when he named his love it seemed like a dream, so sudden and unexpected. I had never given it a thought, or believed such a thing possible. I know him better now; he is so good, so kind." She paused, perhaps hoping her mother would speak, but Mrs. Neville said not a word, and Amy went on somewhat falteringly, although she tried hard to speak steadily. "Mamma, I promised last evening I would be his wife--" "Have you done wisely, Amy? Are you sure you love him as his promised wife should?" "Yes," replied Amy, dreamily. "I like him, I am sure I like him very much indeed,--and--and then he is so gentle and loving with me; surely no one could help liking him." Mrs. Neville half raised herself on the sofa. "Amy! Amy! liking will not do. Do you love him, child?" "Yes, Mamma. Yes, I think so."