“Eva, darling,” she said, with fervent impressiveness, “I ask you--I implore you--to confide in me; to be truthful and unreserved. I will not judge you harshly; be this the proof. I have erred, sinfully, shamefully erred, and my grievous error has brought with it no light punishment. Listen! Like you, I was by accident thrown into the society of one who was personally and strikingly handsome, and whose tone of thought it seemed to me closely resembled my own in all things. As we were then situated, to have been constantly in each other’s society in the presence of friends would have excited remark. We were both young and sensitive, and were desirous of evading the jests of those by whom we were surrounded, especially as observations respecting our liking for each other were floating about among those who were eager to make most thoughtless use of them. As, however, we had a fondness for each other’s society, we eluded what we feared by contriving clandestine meetings. Alas! alas! Eva, the dreadful consequences of those secret meetings; the promptings of passion and love for each other, cast, in one fatal moment, the rules of purity and innocence aside, and I became the victim of my selfwill; a victim of that departure from truth and clear integrity which commits no action the light of day may not shine upon. Clandestine meetings forced upon me a dreadful secret; clandestine meetings made me fly my home; clandestine meetings plunged me into trial and affliction; horrors of which you can have no conception. Oh, my dear, dear Eva! by the mercy of Heaven, I have been relieved from the worse consequences of my sin and from the madness of an ignoble pride; let me implore you, upon my knees, no more to consent to a secret interview with anyone in man’s form again. What it may be necessary for him to say or you to hear, should be said, after he, in the face of all who are deeply interested in your welfare, has frankly acknowledged his affection for you and honourably asked permission to address you, that he may win and wear you before the whole world; then, indeed, he is worthy of your love; then, indeed, may you in secret listen to the ardent whispers of his passion. But oh, Eva, dear! not till then--not till then.” Eva, still embarrassed and confused, only wept, and, in so doing, yet more affrighted Helen. She stole her arm about her waist, and said to her, in a low, soft voice-- “You love this person, Eva, whoever he may be, that I see; now tell me, darling, how and when he first declared his love for you, and induced you to give him your heart?” Eva looked up a little surprised. “He never declared any love for me Helen, dear,” she replied, faintly. “He does not love me; it is not likely he would.” “Not love you?” asked Helen, with surprise. “Oh, no!” she answered, “he never breathed one word about love to me.” “But how has he treated you?” inquired Helen, with an astonished look.