The world will, no doubt, pardon him—seeing that Mammon was his chosen master—if the thought was not altogether unpleasing that, should Mr. Carlisle die now, before Assunta could have a claim upon him, it would make an almost princely addition to the dowry of his sister. Nor on this account were his words less tender as he added: “But, even so, do you not know of one heart waiting, longing to devote itself to you, and only with difficulty restrained from placing itself at your feet by the iron fetters of propriety? Tell me, Clara, may I break these odious chains, and say what is in my heart?” “Mr. Sinclair, you must not speak such words to me now, and my poor brother so ill. Indeed, I cannot stay to hear you. Thank you very much for your kind sympathy, but I must leave you now.” “Without one word of hope? Do I deserve this?” And truly the pathos he put into his voice was calculated to melt a heart of stone; and Clara’s was much more impressible. She paused beside him, and, allowing him still to retain in his the hand he had taken, continued: “I think you take an unfair advantage of my lonely position. I cannot give you a favorable answer this afternoon, for I am so bewildered. I begin to think that I ought not to have come down at all; but I wanted to tell you how much I appreciated the bouquet.” “I hope you read its meaning,” said Mr. Sinclair, rising. “And do you not see a happy omen in your present position, under a bower of orange blossoms? It needs but little imagination to lower them until they encircle the head of the most lovely of brides. Will you accept this as a pledge of that bright future which I have dared to picture to myself?” And as he spoke he put up his hand to break off a cluster of the white blossoms and dark‐green leaves, when Giovanni appeared at the gate. “Signora,” he said, “will you please to come up‐stairs? The Signorina is very anxious to see you.” “I am coming,” she replied. “Pardon me, Mr. Sinclair, and forget what has been said.” And she walked towards the house. “Do you refuse the pledge?” he asked, placing the flowers in her hand, after raising them to his lips. “Really,” answered Clara, almost petulantly, “I am so perplexed, I do not know what to say. Yes, I will take the flowers, if that will please you.” Saying which, she began to ascend the stairs. “And I take hope with me,” said Mr. Sinclair, in a tender tone. But as he turned to go he mentally cursed Giovanni for the interruption; “for,” thought he, “in one minute more I would have had her promise, and who knows but now that brother of hers may recover and interfere?” Assunta met Mrs. Grey just outside the door of Mr. Carlisle’s room, and drew her into the library, where she sat down beside her on the sofa, and, putting her arm affectionately about her, began to speak to her with a calmness which, under the circumstances, could only come from the presence of God.