The image of Edith was
hidden by the interposing form of Miss Linmore. The suspense
occasioned by a wish for time to consider the offer he had made,
grew more and more painful the longer it was continued. On the
possession of the lovely girl as his wife, depended, so he felt, his
future happiness. Were she to decline his offer he would be
wretched. In this state of mind, he called one day upon Miss
Linmore, hoping and fearing, yet resolved to know his fate. The
moment he entered her presence he observed a change. She did not
smile; and there was something chilling in the steady glance of her
large dark eyes.
"Have I offended you?" he asked, as she declined taking his offered
hand.
"Yes," was the firm reply, while the young lady assumed a dignified
air.
"In what?" asked Florence.
"In proving false to her in whose ears you first breathed words of
affection."
The young man started as if stung by a serpent.
"The man," resumed Miss Linmore, "who has been false to Edith
Walter, never can be true to me. I wouldn't have the affection that
could turn from one like her. I hold it to be light as the
thistle-down. Go! heal the heart you have almost broken, if,
perchance, it be not yet too late.
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