"We must part."

"Algernon!" Elinor stepped back, and looked at her lover with death-pale
cheeks and expanded eyes. "Part!"

"Yes, but not for ever, I hope. But for a long, long period of time; so
long, that hope dies in my heart while naming it."

"But why is this, Algernon? Your father's death, you always told me,
would remove the only obstacle to--to--" Her voice failed her. She
buried her face in her apron, and wept.

"Yes, dearest; that was, provided he left me the means to support a
wife. He has not done so. He has left all to my brother--and I am
destitute."

"Good Heaven! And this is my doing. Oh, Algernon. What have you not lost
on my account!"

"We will not think of that now, love," said Algernon, growing calmer now
the worst had been told; "I came to pour into your faithful heart all my
sorrows, and to tell you my plans for the future."

"Algernon," said Elinor, gravely, after remaining for some time in deep
thought, "your attachment to me has overwhelmed you with misfortunes.
Comply with your father's wishes--resign your engagement to me, and your
brother will, in all probability, restore to you the property you have
lost."

"And would you wish me to be under obligations to him? Is not this his