“Who else would tell them?  Who else knows it?  You, you,” said he suspiciously—­“you would not betray me!  I thought you loved me, Aunt Ada.”

“Clarence, my dear boy,” she rejoined, apparently hurt by his hasty and accusing tone, “you will mistake me—­I have no such intention.  If they are never to learn it except through me, your secret is perfectly safe.  Yet I must tell you that I feel and think that the true way to promote her happiness and your own, is for you to disclose to them your real position, and throw yourself upon their generosity for the result.”

Clarence pondered for a long time over Miss Bell’s advice, which she again and again repeated, placing it each time before him in a stronger light, until, at last, she extracted from him a promise that he would do it.  “I know you are right, Aunt Ada,” said he; “I am convinced of that—­it is a question of courage with me.  I know it would be more honourable for me to tell her now.  I’ll try to do it—­I will make an effort, and summon up the courage necessary—­God be my helper!”

“That’s a dear boy!” she exclaimed, kissing him affectionately; “I know you will feel happier when it is all over; and even if she should break her engagement, you will be infinitely better off than if it was fulfilled and your secret subsequently discovered.  Come, now,” she concluded, “I am going to exert my old authority, and send you to bed; tomorrow, perhaps, you may see this in a more hopeful light.”

Two days after this, Clarence was again in New York, amid the heat and dust of that crowded, bustling city.  Soon, after his arrival, he dressed himself, and started for the mansion of Mr. Bates, trembling as he went, for the result of the communication he was about to make.

Once on the way he paused, for the thought had occurred to him that he would write to them; then reproaching himself for his weakness and timidity, he started on again with renewed determination.

“I’ll see her myself,” he soliloquized.  “I’ll tell little Birdie all, and know my fate from her own lips.  If I must give her up, I’ll know the worst from her.”

When Clarence was admitted, he would not permit himself to be announced, but walked tiptoe upstairs and gently opening the drawing-room door, entered the room.  Standing by the piano, turning over the leaves of some music, and merrily humming an air, was a young girl of extremely petite and delicate form.  Her complexion was strikingly fair; and the rich curls of dark auburn that fell in clusters on her shoulders, made it still more dazzling by the contrast presented.  Her eyes were grey, inclining to black; her features small, and not over-remarkable for their symmetry, yet by no means disproportionate.  There was the sweetest of dimples on her small round chin, and her throat white and clear as the finest marble.  The expression of her face was extremely childlike; she seemed more like a schoolgirl than a young woman of eighteen on the eve of marriage.  There was something deliriously airy and fairylike in her motions, and as she slightly moved her feet in time to the music she was humming, her thin blue dress floated about her, and undulated in harmony with her graceful motions.