The fixed look of the maiden, that seemed as if reading his very thoughts, disturbed him. He paused, stammered, and let his eyes fall to the floor. "Lawrence Dunbar!" said Mary, in a quick, emphatic voice, "speak out plainly! There is, of course, a reason for your prolonged absence, and your present coldness. That reason I have a right to know, and I claim an avowal of it now." Lawrence still exhibited embarrassment, and made one or two ineffectual attempts to speak. "You have ceased to love me," said Mary. "I—I—Mary. No. I—I can never cease to lo—love you. But—" "But what?" The maiden's voice was quick and sharp, while her eyes, usually so mild in their expression, flashed with an indignant light. "A marriage contract is a serious matter, and should not be entered into, except after the maturest deliberation. I see now that in the ardency of youth I mistook mere passion for—" "Lawrence Dunbar! Say no more. You are free, if that is what you want." "I—I, Mary! Do not doubt that I loved you sincerely. But a wide intercourse with the world, and—" "Say no more! Say no more, in Heaven's name! I have told you that you were free." "But I would not part in anger, Mary. If I erred it was from weakness. Your beauty, your grace, your loveliness of charac—" "Silence!" And the maiden, erst so gentle and loving, stamped her foot imperiously. "Silence! I will hear no more. Enough that you wish to be free. Go!—" her voice softened—"Go! And may you never feel—" The maiden lost the self-control which, by a powerful effort, she had thus far been enabled to maintain. Her utterance was choked, and the tears came gushing from her eyes. Quickly turning away, she left her false lover alone in the room where their exciting interview had been held. Dunbar hurried from the house in no very happy frame of mind, yet feeling that a weight had been taken from his bosom. He was no longer betrothed in marriage to one who would have hindered his upward movement. He was free, and, even in his shame, rejoiced in his freedom. When Mary Lee entered her own chamber, her face was ashy pale, her eyes almost fixed, and her frame quivering with agitation. She had just sufficient strength to reach her bed, and sink down upon it with a moan of anguish. It was after midnight before she arose from her prostrate position, and then it was merely to lay aside her outer garments, and sink back again upon the bed in helpless abandonment of feeling. Instead of returning to the family with whom she was engaged as sempstress, Mary Dunbar, when she left her friend, went to her father's house, and there waited until her brother came home, which he did not long after. Her mind was made up to speak to him freely on the subject of Mary Lee. "Can I say a few words to you alone, Lawrence?" she asked. And they withdrew from the rest of the family. "On what subject?" the young man asked, as soon as they were alone. "Mary Lee is the subject," she said, fixing her eyes steadily upon him.