“It may not be, Mark,” she said, decidedly, and then added with agonized earnestness: “I am so grateful, so deeply grateful for your affection. I will never, never suffer that gratitude to abate, nor will I ever cease to love you as now--most fervently for that I am parting with you; but, great as the grief I feel at our separation, Mark, it is less than the consciousness of what I had done in consenting to wed you in the face of the hostility of your father--nearest and dearest to you in blood and affection--would make me eternally suffer; for well I know that his peace of mind, yours, and that of the other members of your family, would all, more or less, be injured by my act. No, Mark, I will bear my trial--as--as--well as I can--all the lighter, because I have spared those who fondly love you, and you who love them, from tearing asunder those ties which bind you so closely together now.” How her poor bosom heaved and her lips quivered as she said this. “Lotte,” exclaimed Mark, with intense earnestness, “is my love for you-- my future happiness--to weigh nothing in the considerations by which you are influenced to this harsh step?” “Harsh, Mark; mostly to myself. I love you, Mark; let that be your solace. No other man; I swear, shall ever receive the hand you have kissed. You; after we have parted; you--will not forget me--no--no, I do _not_ believe that--but you will meet with others in a higher sphere, beautiful, accomplished, and engaging, more than I can ever hope to be, and you----” “Do not finish your sentence, Lotte,” cried Mark huskily. “You do not love me, or you would not permit such a thought to enter your brain,” he added reproachfully. “Your doubt wounds my heart!” exclaimed Lotte, with evident pain. “I will not reiterate what I have confessed to you on that point. I will only add that I would have cheerfully married you, and joined in our mutual support by my own labour, if such had been needful; I would have done it with the proudest content, had circumstances been such that I could have entered your family as an equal. This cannot be. I see the disparity more strongly now, perhaps, than even he who has forbidden me to approach his affinity; but, Mark, I could not consent to become your wife and his daughter on other terms than your continued friendship with him, without incurring contumely myself. It is wholly impossible to change my opinions on this point; so Mark, dear Mark, let us bid each other farewell. I am faint--oppressed--ill. I would part with you at once----” “And for ever!” said Mark, with burning eyes, as he forced the words through his teeth. She bowed her head. “For ever!” she repeated. “Lotte!” he exclaimed, with intense excitement, “I cannot argue this point with you--I cannot. I will not bid you farewell--I dare not; yet, girl, we shall never, never meet again!” He almost shrieked those last words, and rushed out of the room.