CHAPTER XVII.

A WALK IN THE PARK.

EAVES-DROPPING.

It was the second week in December, and the nuptial day was rapidly approaching. One evening, just as the sun had set, I called at Mr. Dinneford's. It was warm, like summer, and not a flake of snow had yet fallen. I inquired for Irene, and was told that a cousin had arrived from the country that afternoon, and that she, Mr. Dinneford and Irene, had gone to a walk in the Park. I walked leisurely there, and soon encountered Mr. Dinneford, who was alone. I asked for the girls, and he pointed them out, some distance off, walking very slowly, as though engaged in deep conversation.

"I let them stray," said Mr. Dinneford, "for they are old cronies, and I was well aware, by their actions, that they had a number of young girls' secrets to disclose to each other. And now, as you have come, I shall take myself off, being of no further use."

I did not immediately follow them, but let them continue their conversation, until it had become dark. As I approached them, they took a seat, without noticing me, so much were they engrossed with the subject that

engaged their attention. I thought I would step up behind them, and give them a sudden start. When I was nearly to them, I heard her cousin say,

"And so you are engaged to marry, and yet you are fearful that you do not love him."

"I know that I do not love him as he deserves to be loved, or as his nature requires," was the answer.

I was now deeply interested, and I could not resist the temptation to hear more.

"And shall you marry him, if you cannot love him?" "I suppose I must, now, it has gone so far."

"But you must not do anything of the kind. What right have you to go to the altar, if you do not love?"

"I sometimes feel it to be wrong; but I highly respect him, and almost love him; and our minister says. that respect is, on the whole, better than love, for there is something to found love upon after marriage.”

"Your minister is a fool! I have no patience with many of the clergy of the present day; they don't seem to be more than half human.”

"Why, how you talk of the clergy! Mother would think you a heathen, to hear you.'

"What I say is true, nevertheless. Tell about respect being better than love! What constitutes marriage but mutual love?"

"I feel that you are right; but I will marry Henri, and I shall love him, he is so noble and generous."

"Why do you think you shall love him after marriage, if you cannot before?"

"Because I almost love him now; and sometimes I have felt that I love him with my whole heart. O! how often have I prayed that it might be so always!

Irene, it is

"And yet your prayer is not answered. not right that it should be. Your love for him is that of a sister for a dear brother, rather than a husband." "I am fearful that it is so, but I hope not. After we are married, I shall feel that we must be all in all to each other; and he is so good, I doubt not I shall love him dearly."

"Irene, the girl who gives her hand to a man she does not love, perils her own happiness and the happiness of her husband, and commits a great wrong. You will marry Henri!"

not

"Do not say that, Mary. Henri saved me in the hour of peril, and I have promised to marry him. My parents have given their consent and their blessing. The day is rapidly approaching. It is too late now."

"No, it is not too late, you are not yet married. There is yet time, if you only act as a woman should."

"But can I do him so great a wrong, when he has done so much for me? And what would my parents say?"

"The greatest wrong you can do Mr. Eaton is to

marry him, when you cannot give him your whole heart."

"O, but he shall never know it. It is too late to think of breaking our engagement now. I will marry him!" "Irene, be candid with me. Is there not some other being in the world whom you love more?"

"I do not know, Mary."

"You do not know! But you do know, and you cannot hide the truth from your own heart. Tell me who it is, and why you are separated."

"You are a strange girl, Mary, and seem determined to bring all my hidden thoughts to light. To tell the truth, there is one whom I have often fancied that I could love, if he would love me; and I thought so before I ever saw Henri.”

"I guessed as much. Who is the gentleman ?"

"The bashful clerk to whom I introduced you, when you were here last."

፡፡ I cannot say that I admire your taste. I should prefer Mr. Eaton; but we do not all think alike. But does he know anything, is he intelligent? He appeared to me very dull and stupid, and entirely devoid of language, excepting no and yes, and frequent hems." "He is very diffident, and often stupid; but I know he has a soul true and noble. One who lacks intelligence and goodness could not look as I have seen him. I have seen his countenance lit up, as it were, by inspiration;

and O, how noble it looked! And his eyes- how full of passion they were, and how entrancing was their expression!"

"I think he would feel flattered to hear you now. I see plainly enough that you love him. But have you any evidence that this feeling is mutual?"

"I have thought so, when his eyes were fixed upon me so passionately, and seemingly so full of admiration; and, besides, he is so much more sorrowful since he learned my engagement with Henri."

"Irene, you shall marry Ernest, and not Henri !”

"O, no! it may not be. I do not know that I should like Ernest at all, if better acquainted. In three weeks I shall be married, and then Ernest will be nothing to me. But you must never mention this to a single soul."

"No, dear, I will not. You know that you can trust me; but do you think Mr. Eaton would marry you, if he knew what your feelings are?"

"I do not believe he would. I sometimes think that he does not love me. He is very different, at times," "Another reason why you should not marry. It must not be, Irene."

"I have told you that it is too late to retreat. I know what my father would say. I never had a cross look or an angry word from him in my life, and I could not bear them now."