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“Let me hold this pure little hand while I confess to you, my only love, that your clear eyes have read my soul–that I have deceived you–that I love you beyond all else this world contains; but that the most cruel fate man ever before suffered, keeps me from you, unless, indeed, your love will help me to remove the barrier.”

And while the young girl listened, with drooping head, he told her of his hated engagement–of the painful circumstances that had betrayed him into compliance.

“But I never dreamed of this sort of Nemesis! I could not have been in my senses to thus barter my freedom forever.”

Slowly withdrawing her hand, the girl said, still in the same low tones:

“And you do not love your betrothed?”

“Love her?” he echoed. “I tell you, Lina, I have never even seen her. Her people have been abroad for an age. She was in New York a few weeks ago and, I understand, took offense at my continued absence from her side, and went back to England. This is what she left for me;” and plunging his hand into his breast pocket he selected from his note-case a fragrant little billet-doux, formally desiring Dr. Gardner to explain his strange conduct at his leisure–that the next opportunity granted him of seeing Evelyn Howard must be of his own seeking.

There was a pause after the reading of this aggrieved, dignified little message.

“And can you, as a gentleman of honor, reconcile your neglect of the writer?” asked Lina Dent, in a voice in which a cadence of scorn involuntarily sounded.

“Honor! Can’t you see that honor was what kept me from her? Such honor as a man feels when he knows that he is poised between a Scylla and a Charybdis of desperate fatality?”

“There can be but one answer to all this, Dr. Gardner,” the girl replied with proud dignity. “It would ill become me to sit in judgment on you after what I have received at your hands; but you will acknowledge that it was cruelly inconsiderate to seek my love while a barrier such as this existed. How do I know that you will not love your betrothed after you have seen her?”

“Love her–love any other than you, my beautiful, peerless one? Do not torture me with such a supposition. I care nothing for Evelyn Howard; I do not know her; I do not care to know her; nor is she in the least dependent upon me for happiness. She has vast wealth, and can command whatever fate she chooses.”

“But wealth cannot buy happiness,” she sadly replied, “and our course is clear. I can see you no more till you have met your betrothed and received your dismissal–or,”–and her clear cheek paled again–“made up your mind to fulfill your promise to her. Farewell! I thank you for your unwise devotion to me, but I can see you no more.”

“Oh, Lina, do not doom me to this total separation. Why it seems an eternity. Where and when can I see you again? Why didn’t I go to that girl when she was here? Fool, coward that I was! And now I cannot leave New York. Grant me some respite, my love–I cannot live without you!”

But much as she sympathized with him she was firm; and when Weldon Gardner left the house, with despair tugging at his heart, the only ray of sunshine that pierced the gloom was the conviction that she did love him–that should anything occur to separate them forever, her heart would plead strongly for him, and her love would strive with his to overcome the barrier.

* * * * *

Months went by, and still Evelyn Howard eluded Weldon Gardner’s pursuit. Bitterly was he punished for his culpable neglect of her. In vain he wrote letters urging her to come to New York. She was traveling with friends and declined to change her course. He followed her to London, to Paris. In vain! She was ever just before him on his journey: always missing, never meeting him. Then he wrote to Lina Dent, beseeching her to relent, since he had done all in his power to carry out her wishes. She did not reply. Then in sullen despair he gave up the pursuit. He carefully avoided going out except to see patients, declined all invitations, and took solitary refuge in the stern exactions of duty.