the flowered, for her wedding-dress? And she
said "Neither," very coldly. "We have
plenty of time before it comes to that," she
added, with an accent tht said of itself  "I
am happy to be able to say so."

Paul had long been choking with sobs, kept
back with a wonderful amount, of
self-command, for him. But now, he suddenly gave
way. A violent flood of tears burst from him
as he exclaimed, "Magdalen! Magdalen!
we are drifting fearfully apart. Tell me what
you disapprove of in me; and trust me, my
beloved, I will alter it, whatever it may be—
were it to cut my very heart out — to please
you!"

He sobbed so bitterly, that Magdalen was
almost overcome too. For she had a real
affection for him, if not quite the strength of
love desirable between persons who are
betrothed.

"Dear Paul," she said, gently, "I dare say
I have been very much changed lately ; but
I have been suffering a great deal of misery,
which I have not liked to tell you of. That
is the only reason of my coldness. I know
that I have been cold and changed, but then
I have been harassed. Will you forgive me ?"
And she looked and spoke gently and
lovingly.

"But why have you not told me,
Magdalen?" cried Paul, still sobbing. "Why
have you concealed anything of your life
from me? Does not all belong to me now,
Magdalen;  and have I not the right to share
your burdens with you? You have not done
well to conceal anything from me."

"Perhaps I have not," answered Magdalen,
kindly ; "but I did it for the best, Paul."

"I know you did! I know you did! You
could not do wrong. If ever you make a
mstake, it is from a nobler motive than others
have. But now, open your heart to me,
Magdalen; it will do you good; and I will
help you and support you!"

Magdalen glanced down at the upturned
face, still flushed and suffused with tears;
nervous, quivering, full of passion, but so
weak; and a smile stole over her own calm,
grand features — like the features of a Greek
goddess — as she said to herself, "Support!
from him!"

"My brother disputes the will," she said,
suddenly. "He says that the codicil which
you witnessed is a forgery; that I forged my
father's handwriting, and that you were privy
to it, of course. I can write like poor papa,
as you know; and as I have often written
letters to Andrew in jest, pretending that
they came from poor papa, he has a strong
case.  On this fact, as the principal evidence
against me—on the fact, also, of the codicil
being written in a trembling hand, very unlike
my father's firm distinct writing, he has founded
his charge of forgery. Is it not painful?"

"But what are you going to do,
Magdalen?" said Paul, who had become deadly
pale, and was trembling.

"Dispute the point to the last inch of
ground," she answered firmly.

He covered his face in his hands. "Are
you obliged to do this?" he asked.

"No; I had a letter again to-day from my
brother, offering, as he has done before, to
withdraw his charge, and not proceed with
the affair at all, if I will give up possession,
and destroy the codicil. If I do not, he will
have me arrested for felony."

"Magdalen!" That tremendous word,
felony, had an overpowering effect on Paul;
and he asked wildly, "You will not surely
let it come to this?"

"What else can I do, Paul?"

"Give it all up to your brother — to the
last farthing — your portion — all — rather than
begin this unholy and most unfeminine
strife."

"And what are we to do then, Paul, when
I am a beggar?"

"What? — can you ask me, love? Hand
in hand we will wander through the world;
my art our aid, our love our consolation
and protection. We shall not be deserted,
Magdalen."

"What! give it up, Paul, and allow him
and the world to believe me guilty? — be
myself my executioner ? I could not do that."

"Let them believe what they like,
Magdalen. Does belief make truth? Are you
not innocent? Who judges you but God?
What is the opinion of the world, compared
to the truth of your innocence, and the reality
of Heaven's favour? Magdalen, take my
advice — do not enter into this contest. Give
it all up without a struggle. Come to me!
—my arm shall uphold you, my heart shall
shelter you."

"That is very well in words," said
Magdalen, a little coldly; "but you know that
in reality it means nothing. If I give up
this property, we give up all hope of our
union. We have nothing for our support but
this; what would you do, then?"

"My art," said Paul. "Have I not said
so already?"

"Your art? how can you rely on that?
Have you not always said that you could
not paint for money, and that so soon as
you began anything like a commission, you
lost all power and inspiration? Have you
not again and again congratulated yourself
on this good fortune, as giving you the power
of painting for fame, and the regeneration of
mankind?" And Magdalen's lip slightly
curled.

"But if necessary, and if I could not
support you, I would postpone our marriage to
an indefinite time, Magdalen, rather than
that you should do wrong to your nature."

"And you think a manful defence of my
just rights a wrong act, Paul ?"

"Against a brother — yes."

"Then must we submit to any oppression
and tyranny whatsoever, rather than defend
ourselves? Is this a man's creed?"