There was no deception here. Those eyes were lifted to the proud woman’s questioning, clearly and purely as the stars of heaven shine on earth. Mrs. Savage hesitated and looked down, there was too much of the woman in her heart not to shrink from the task she had imposed on herself. At last she took the girl’s hand in her own, and felt that it trembled there like a frightened bird. “Anna Burns, has my son ever said that he loved you?” Anna struggled to free her hand. “Oh, madam! Oh, lady! this is punishing me too much!” “Answer me, Anna, I mean nothing unkind; but I must know. Has my son ever said that he loved you?” Anna sat upright. Her face had been scarlet a moment before; now it was white as snow. “Yes,” she said, with gentle firmness. “He has said that he loved me more than once.” “And you believed him?” “Believed him? Oh, yes!” “One question more, Anna. Do you love him?” “Lady, I am a very young girl, and hardly know what love is. But I hope God will forgive me if it is wrong to think so often and so much of Mr. Savage!” “This is very sad,” murmured the lady; and she held the little hand in hers closer when she spoke again. “Has he ever said any thing about marrying you, Anna?” “I think so. It seemed to me that it was what he meant; but that was before—” “Before what, Anna?” “I don’t know. I would rather not talk any more about it, madam, if you please.” “Anna, let me talk seriously with you. There is a great distinction between you and my son.” “I know it—I know it. Grandmother said exactly those words.” “He cannot marry you.” “Oh! madam.” “You must save him from the ruin such a step would bring upon him.” “Ruin?” “Yes, ruin! I, his mother, never would consent. He would lose his high place in society. He would regret the step within a month after it was taken.” Anna grew paler and paler, the quivering of her lips became convulsive. “That is the reason—that is why he would not speak to me. Oh! madam, my heart is breaking.” “Better the pain now than when it is too late, child. Give him up—give him up, and I will see that neither you nor yours shall ever want.” “It is too late—too late, lady. He has given me up. I understand it all now. Let me go home. I am faint—so, so fain——” The sentence died out in a murmur on those white lips. Anna had fainted at the proud woman’s feet. CHAPTER XVII. A NEW LIGHT. When Anna Burns awoke from that deathly fainting fit, Mrs. Savage was leaning over her, with pain and sorrow in her fine features. The unhappy girl looked so white and broken in her insensibility that it touched her to the heart. “Poor child! it is a sad pity,” she murmured, lifting Anna’s head to her lap. “But these things, happily, do not prove fatal. She should not have lifted her eyes to my Horace. Dear fellow! no wonder he thinks her pretty.”