sister's thoughtful and eccentric manners,
and reminded William Chester every day of
the change. By degrees, however, he became
accustomed to her, so far as to confide to her
his passion for Annie, and how strangely she
had received his declaration; and the sister
appeared to feel so warmly for him, that he
never returned from a visit to Eton without
relating to her faithfully all that had passed
between them; upon which she would advise
him, interpreting all things for the best, and
always insisting that she knew her sister
better than he did, and was sure that she
could not be mistaken. For several months,
indeed, after her departure, Annie received
him always affectionately; and although they
never spoke of the conversation in the garden,
he saw that she did not forget it; until, one
day, he observed a change in her manner. She
did not come to meet him as usual, though he
had told her the time when he would arrive.
She avoided, as he thought, every occasion of
being alone with him; and even, when sitting
with him and Mrs. Frampton, she spoke to
him but seldom, shrinking when he looked
towards her; though once he thought he
saw her glance at him with a look so full of
sorrow, that he could not banish it from his
mind for long after.

"I will see her myself," said Mary Burton,
when he told her in the evening what had
passed. " I believe her to be dying in love
for you, while you sit there saying nothing,
and fancying all kinds of things of one
another."

"No, no," he replied; "I will not have her
made more unhappy on my account. Already
I have seen how she has striven to love me, for
my sake, and if by some strange fate she
cannot return my passion, I will not blame
her."

After that, his visits at Eton were less
frequent; and, even when with her, he sought
by every means to relieve her from embarrassment.
He studiously avoided their old topic,
the early days of their acquaintance, and if by
any accident something reminded them of
those days, he turned away, and did not look
at her again for some time afterwards. And
thus, month after month, until two years were
past from the time she left the island, he found
her still more strange, still seeking to avoid
him, yet sometimes glancing at him still with
the same old sorrowful expression.

One afternoon, in the winter-time of the
year, he was sitting with her again in the
large room of the house at Eton. He had
not been there for many days previously, and
even then he would soon have taken his
departure, if Mrs. Frampton, upon going
out, had not begged him to wait until she
returned. He sat some time in silence
after she was gone; for Annie remained at
the table reading, and did not raise her eyes
from the book.

"I am afraid I must go, Annie," said he,
at length, " although Mrs. Frampton does not
return. I want to get back to-night, and the
coach will start very shortly."

"No, no," exclaimed Annie, shutting the
book, and looking at him so wildly that he
was alarmed. "Do not leave me here alone
to-night. I cannot trust myself to be alone."

"Why, what is the matter, Annie?"

"Do not question me," she replied, "but
stay with me; or, if you must go, take me
with you home." Then walking over to him,
she held his arm firmly, and said, almost in a
whisper, "I have never been truly happy
since I left my father's roof;—dreams I have
had of happiness—guilty dreams of pleasure
to be purchased by the sacrifice of others—at
the price of sorrow and shame to those who
would shrink from causing me a moment's
pain; but to-night I wake and know how
hollow they have been. Oh, William! I would
that I had never come to Eton. How I would
that I could bring back that night when I
promised—God knows, sincerely as I thought
—to love you, and be true to you, as you
deserved! A mist has been before my eyes,
so that I have not seen things clearly; but
now, thank God, I see all, and by His help
I will go back, and lead again an innocent
and peaceful life with those who love me
truly. Come, then; let us not wait another
moment, but begone from here for ever."

Bewildered by the wildness of her manner,
William Chester scarcely understood her
words. He knew she had referred to their
conversation on the island, on the night before
she left him, and knowing now that she
wanted to go back, he thought that she was
stricken with remorse for her neglect of him,
and strove to repair it in spite of herself.

"Nay, Annie," he replied, " I will not be so
selfish as to hold you to a compact which your
heart rejects. Live here a little longer—till
my apprenticeship is ended—and I will
leave the island for good, and you can come
back."

"Let us begone," said Annie, hardly heeding
his words; "you do not understand me.
I have told you all. Let us begone."

So saying, she flung on her shawl hastily,
and taking down her bonnet which hung
upon the wall, prepared to put it on; but, as
she turned, her companion saw her fix her
eye upon the little window behind him, and a
moment afterwards she uttered a faint shriek,
and fell back in a chair. He ran to her, and
held her; but her eyes were shut, and she
breathed slowly. He got her some water,
and fanned her face with a book. "Annie,
Annie!" he cried; but she did not answer
him. "My God!" he exclaimed, "she might
die: yet I dare not leave her." He ran to the
door; but it was getting dark, and seeing no
one near, he returned to her chair. He
sprinkled the water upon her face, and called
upon her again and again. He placed his
hand upon her temples, took her hands, and
chafed them, weeping bitterly; and, finally,
when he saw her still pale and almost motionless,