It was very passionate in its terms, and rather incoherent; such a letter, in short, as a lad almost wild with love and grief would write under the circumstances. “So,” said Florence, as she coolly folded it up, “it appears that you are engaged to him.” No answer, unless sobs can be said to constitute one. “And it seems that you are engaged to a man who has just committed a frightful murder, and run away from the consequences.” Eva sat up on the bed. “It was not a murder; it was a duel.” “Precisely, a duel about another woman; but the law calls it murder. If he is caught he will be hanged.” “O Florence! how can you say such dreadful things?” “I only say what is true. Poor Eva, I do not wonder that you are distressed.” “It is all so dreadful!” “You love him, I suppose?” “O yes, dearly.” “Then you must get over it; you must never think of him any more.” “Never think of him! I shall think of him all my life.” “That is as it may be. You must never have anything more to do with him. He has blood upon his hands, blood shed for some bad woman.” “I cannot desert him, Florence, because he has got into trouble.” “Over another woman.” A peculiar expression of pain passed over Eva’s face. “How cruel you are, Florence! He is only a boy, and boys will go wrong sometimes. Anybody can make a fool of a boy.” “And it seems that boys can make fools of some people who should know better.” “O Florence, what is to be done? You have such a clear head; tell me what I must do. I cannot give him up; I cannot indeed.” Florence seated herself on the bed beside her sister, and put an arm round her neck and kissed her. Eva was much touched at her kindness. “My poor Eva,” she said, “I am so sorry for you! But tell me, when did you get engaged to him—that evening you went out sailing together?” “Yes.” “He kissed you, I suppose, and all that?” “Yes. Oh, I was so happy!” “My poor Eva!” “I tell you I cannot give him up.” “Well, perhaps there will be no need for you to do so. But you must not answer that letter.” “Why not?” “Because it will not do. Look at it which way you will, Ernest has just killed his own cousin in a quarrel about another woman. It is necessary that you should mark your disapproval of that in some way or other. Do not answer his letter. If in time he can wash himself clear of the reproach, and remains faithful to you, then it will be soon enough to show that you still care for him.” “But if I leave him like that, he will fall into the hands of other women, though he loves me all the time. I know him well; his is not a nature that can stand alone.” “Well, let him.” “But, Florence, you forget I love him, too. I cannot bear to think of it. O, I love him, I love him!” and she dropped her head upon her sister’s shoulder and began to sob again.