With this lovely and accomplished young creature Lawrence Dunbar was enamored, almost at first sight. She seemed a worthy object of his regard, and one who would grace any social position to which he might attain. No very long time passed before he was so deeply in love with her, that words were scarcely necessary to assure the maiden of the fact. Her heart easily yielded. When he ventured to breathe the sentiment that was in his heart, tears of joy sprang into her eyes as a glad response. Though her lips uttered no sound, the young man read the looked-for answer in her countenance. There were few purer or better hearts than that which beat in the bosom of Mary Lee. For so selfish and worldly-minded a man as Lawrence Dunbar promised to be, she was too good. Her love could never fix itself upon his moral qualities. It was the appearance of all excellences of character which she saw in him, that she loved, and loved as deeply as if it were real, because she thought it real. About a week after Mary Lee had heard from the lips of Dunbar the heart-thrilling confession of his love, she sat alone, near the close of a mild evening in June, with Lloyd Hudson, who of late had become more frequent in his visits. For Lloyd she entertained a feeling of respect, amounting almost to deference. There was an air of thought and mien of sobriety about him, that while it did not exactly repel, interposed between her and him a delicate reserve, which made their intercourse more polite than familiar. On the occasion to which we refer, Lloyd was even more thoughtful and sober than usual. Something seemed to oppress him, and take away his ability to converse with even his accustomed freedom. At last, he took, suddenly, the maiden's hand in his, and before she had time to recover from the surprise occasioned by the unexpected movement, said— "Mary, answer me frankly one question. Is this hand free?" "It is not, Mr. Hudson," she replied, withdrawing it from his. "Not free!" he ejaculated with surprise, while the blood rushed to his face. "Can I have heard you aright?" Mary Lee did not insult the young man by haughty and half-triumphant scorn. She was too generous, too kind in her nature, and felt too deep a respect for him to do that. Hers was not even coldness in manner, but a gentle, yet firm avowal that another had sought and won her love. For days and weeks, for months and it might be said for years, did Mary remember at times, and with strange feelings, the look which the young man cast upon her, as snatching her hand and imprinting a kiss upon it, he turned suddenly away and fled from her presence. CHAPTER III. MORAL DECLENSION.