"It is true, and you may. It was an engagement entered into as a sort of family affair, and I never cared anything about it one way or the other. I thought it would be rather pleasant----" "Is that all?" "Yes, on my honor, until I met you; and then I knew it could never be." "You said you _were_ engaged to her, Richard. What do you mean by that?" "As soon as I could after I had spoken to you this afternoon I wrote to her, telling her the truth about my love for you and giving her a chance to break the engagement." "Where is the letter?" "It is gone." "Suppose she will not break it?" "She will, of course." "Dick, I know that she loves you. I know she won't give you up. Oh, my heart is breaking!" "Nonsense; she doesn't love me at all!" "No woman could help it who knew you as I do," decidedly. "No one knows me as you do, dearest. To no one have I ever shown my heart, myself, as I have shown them to you. She must give me up; she shall! I tell you I will marry no woman but you, no matter what happens!" "And I, Dick, will marry no one but you. But, oh, the pity of it! Why didn't I know you before?" "But you believe me, don't you, that I love you, only you?" "Yes, yes, I believe," mournfully. "And you will trust me?" "Yes, I suppose I will have to trust you," she answered. "But you won't do that merely because you have to, will you?" pleaded the young man, coming nearer to her. "No," she said at last, faintly. "I will trust you because I--I love you." He suddenly swept her to his breast again and kissed her once more. But she did not return his kiss, and immediately thrust him away from her. "Please do not do that again, Richard; at least not yet," she murmured, as she resolutely disengaged herself from his embrace. "Poor girl! you don't love her. And now good-night. I must think--it's all so strange--I don't know. We will talk over what is best in the morning." "But you love me still? You won't let this make any difference, will you?" he pleaded, in deadly anxiety, stretching out his hands to her. "It won't make any difference in my love,--nothing will ever change that," she answered, sadly; "but it makes a great difference in my happiness." Poor Emily! she was just learning that the beginning of a woman's love is forgiveness. In the oldest of Books is written, "It is not good that man should be alone," and the saying is as true as it is ancient. The human being who looks at things through but one pair of eyes--his own--is apt to receive distorted impressions, to see strange visions, and to dream fearful dreams.