“Alas! Mary, I shall never—never love him as I _could_—love, as I _ought_ to love a husband. Still, I have a sincere affection for him, am deeply grateful for his devotion, and value all his noble qualities; but our souls would forever remain apart. He could never dwell enshrined within the temple of my heart. I would give him all in my power to give. More than that I could not do. Pity me! for the pain it will cost me to break this off. Indeed, I dread, above all, not being able to make him happy. Could I do so, if wretched myself?” “Well, dearest,” I said, “if this be so, you must let him know, without further delay. My intention was to say this to you to-day; but you have forestalled me. Let me, however, entreat you to consider well—the time may come when you will, perhaps, deeply regret having rejected so honorable and noble a heart, for a caprice, a fancy.” “Alas!” she rejoined, bitterly—“I feel that, whether I unite my fate with the noble Balzano, or whether I decide to remain alone and unloved, regret will equally be mine. Such is my cruel destiny!” Just then we heard Ella’s ringing laugh, and rose to meet them. On leaving the grotto, we perceived Balzano; his hat, his pockets, his hands, all crammed with wild flowers and mosses for his pet’s herbarium. As I looked on his fine open countenance, beaming with good nature, and now animated with the pleasure of amusing a child, I almost wondered at Evelyn’s insensibility, even admitting he was no type of that spiritual beauty she had taken as her _beau ideal_. During our drive homeward, it struck me that Evelyn’s manner was softer and kinder towards her lover than it had been for some time. Did she relent? or was it the tender pity a woman ever feels toward a suitor she is determined to reject, knowing at the same time she is fondly loved? We retired early to rest; but, before we parted for the night, I received Evelyn’s promise that she would, on the following morning, enter into a full explanation with her betrothed. Of the particulars of that conversation I was made aware later. Punctually at twelve, to the minute, as per agreement, the duke entered our _salon_. Evelyn was alone. She was very pale, but calm and collected. “_Mon ami_,” she began, “I wish to speak to you very seriously.” “Why so, _anima mia_?” (my soul)—taking her hand, and dropping on one knee, as he gallantly raised the jeweled fingers to his lips—“why should we be serious, when everything smiles on our projected union?” “Hush, Balzano!” she replied, gently withdrawing her hand, and motioning him to a chair. “Listen to me for one moment. It is important to our happiness—indeed it is.” Her solemn manner alarmed him; for the ready tear stood in his dark eyes, and he said sadly: “I see it all—you do not love me!” “Yes, dear friend—indeed—indeed I do. I think no one so good, so noble, so devoted as you.” “Then what is it, _cuore mio_?” (my heart)—“speak.”