“No, grandpapa, I assure you that I have for Jack a sister’s friendship, nothing more. I cannot be his wife.” The doctor was startled. “Cécile,” he said, gravely, “do you love any other person?” She colored. “No; but I do not wish to marry;” and to all that M. Rivals said she would make no other reply. He asked her what would be said, what would be thought by their little world. “Remember,” he said, “that to Jack this will be a frightful blow; his whole future will be sacrificed.” Cécile’s pale features quivered nervously. Her grandfather took her hand. “My child,” he said, “think well before you decide a question of such importance.” “No,” she answered; “the sooner he knows my decision the better for us both. I know that I am going to pain him deeply, but the longer we delay the worse it will be, and I cannot see him again until he knows the truth; I am incapable of such treachery.” “Then you mean to give the boy his dismissal,” said the doctor, in a rage. “Good heavens! what strange creatures women are!” She looked at him with such an expression of despair that he stopped short. “No, no, little girl, I am not angry with you. It is my fault more than yours. You were too young to know your own mind. I am an old fool, and shall always be one until the bitter end.” Then came the painful duty of writing to Jack. He began a dozen letters, destroyed them all, and finally sent the telegram, hoping that Cécile would have come to her senses before the week was over. The next Saturday, when Dr. Rivals said to his granddaughter, “He will come to-morrow; is your decision irrevocable?” “Irrevocable,” she said, slowly. Jack arrived early on Sunday. When he reached the door the servant said, “My master is waiting for you in the garden.” Jack felt chilled to the heart, and the doctor’s face increased his fears, for he, though for forty years accustomed to the sight of human suffering, was as troubled as Jack. “Cécile is here—is she not?” were the youth’s first words. “No, my friend, I left her—at—where we have been, you know; and she will remain some time.” “Dr. Rivals, tell me what is wrong. She does not wish to see me again? Is that it?” The doctor could not answer. Jack seated himself for fear he should fall. They were at the foot of the garden. It was a fresh, bright November morning; hoar-frost lay on the lawn, a faint haze hung over the distant hills and reminded him of that day at Coudray, the vintage, and their first whisper of love. The doctor laid a paternal hand on his shoulder. “Jack,” he whispered, “do not be unhappy. She is very young and will perhaps change her mind. It is a mere caprice.”