Then--so abrupt and fearful are the transitions from the extremes of
one emotion to another--arose before her another picture. As in a
dissolving view, she beheld herself walking with Frederic Chilton in
the moonlighted alleys of the garden; midsummer flowers blooming to
the right and left, her head drooping, in shy happiness, as the
lily-bell bows to shed its freight of dew; his face glowing with the
ardor of verbal confession of that he had already sought to express
by letter--heard his fervent, pleading murmur, "Mabel! look up, my
darling! and tell me again that you will not send me away beggared
and starving. I cannot yet believe in the reality of my bliss!"

These were the love-words of an "enthusiast"--these---

The vision vanished at the short, hard breath, she drew in
unclasping her locked hands, and lifting her grave, tranquil eyes to
the level of her suitor's.

"I will follow your example in repudiating spurious sentiment, Mr.
Dorrance. I believe you to be a good, true man and that the
attachment you profess for me is sincere. I believe, moreover, that
my chances of securing real peace of mind will be fairer, should I
commit myself to your guardianship, than if I were to surrender my
affections to the keeping of one whose vows were more impassioned,
who, professing to adore me as a divinity, should yet be destitute
of your high moral principle and stainless honor. When I was younger
and more rash in judgment and feeling, I was led into a sad mistake
by the evidence of eye, ear, and a girl's imagination. I ought to
tell you this, if you have not already heard the story. I will not
deceive you into the persuasion that I can ever feel for you, or any