"A thousand contending passions were striving for the mastery in my breast, when, upon the evening of that day, after its weary labours were over, I threw myself upon a low seat in the room that served alike as school-room and parlour. Woman's pride--and who does not know that 'there is not a high thing out of heaven her pride o'er-mastereth not?'--was all aroused. Memory was wide awake, bringing back the recollection of by-gone days, when my hand had been sought by the proudest in the land. Then came thoughts of our early love--of the exquisite happiness that had filled my heart, when I had so rejoiced that wealth was at my command, and that I could place it all at the feet of one whom I deemed so noble and so pure--and of a later period, when, rather than place the slightest barrier in his way to fame and fortune, I had resisted all his entreaties, and confined myself to close and unremitting toil. It was at this very moment when I was half maddened by the retrospect, that the door opened, and Walter Elmore entered. "Hastily rising, with every appearance of calmness, I received him with a cold and stately courtesy, surprising even to myself. "'What means this, Mary?' said he; and I could see that his lip quivered, and the hand he had extended trembled. 'Why do you greet me thus coldly?' "'Let your own heart answer the question, Mr. Elmore. To that and to your own words I refer you for reasons why we must henceforth be strangers.' "'You speak enigmas to-night, my dear Mary. My heart tells me no tale that can enable me to comprehend this unlooked-for change in you. It will take more than your simple assertion that we are strangers, to render us such; and he again attempted to take my hand. "I drew back more haughtily than before, and words that I cannot now repeat burst from my lips. I can only tell you that they were harsh, stinging words--words fraught with contempt and bitterness--words that a proud spirit like Elmore's could not brook. "He sought no farther explanation. 'Be it as you will,' he said, and his manner was as stern as my own; 'I have asked you to account for this change, and you refuse compliance, couching that refusal in terms that I can hear twice from no one, not even from yourself. We meet no more; but remember, Mary Atherton, the words you have this day uttered will ring in your ear until it is closed to all earthly sounds. You have given heed to some idle tale of calumny, and have wantonly flung away a heart that was filled but with your image--a heart that had centred upon you its every dream and wish for the far future--that lived but in the hope of one day calling you its own--and that looked forward to that period as to the commencement of a better and a happier existence. The hour will come when you will feel that this is true, and then will you bewail the step you have now taken!'--and without one farewell look he rushed from the room.