“He is confined to his room, but not entirely to his bed.  When shall I say you will come?” said the lady.

“I will be there within an hour after your own arrival, if you go direct.”

“Very well, sir;” and she turned to depart.

This intention on the part of the lady did not seem to meet the approbation of the attorney.

“Stay a moment, Miss Dumont,” said he, in an embarrassed manner; “pray, honor me with a moment’s conversation.”

“Nay, sir.  I know too well your object in this request, and cannot accede to it,” replied the lady, in a firm and dignified manner, while a rich crimson shade suffused her beautiful countenance.

“Be not so unkind,—­a moment is all I ask,” said Maxwell, with pleading earnestness.

“No, sir; not a moment.  Your unopened letter, which I yesterday returned, should be enough to convince you that my mind is not changed,” replied she, moving to the door.

The lawyer was vexed.  The letter alluded to by the lady he had received, and it had troubled him exceedingly.  He had a great purpose in view,—­a purpose which, accomplished, would enable him to realize the cherished object of his life,—­would enable him to revel in the ease and affluence he so much coveted.  Something must be done.  Here was an opportunity afforded by the providential visit of Miss Dumont which might never occur again, and he resolved to improve it.  Determined to detain her, he adopted the first expedient which presented itself.

“Pardon me,” said he, “I have not received the letter, and was not aware that you intended to return it.”

“Indeed!” replied the lady, with evident astonishment, as she relinquished her hold of the door-handle, and returned to the table by the side of which the attorney stood.

“I regret that I did not, as it would have saved you from further annoyance, and me from a few of the hours of anguish with which I have awaited your reply,” returned the lawyer, in accents of humility, which were too well feigned to permit the lady to suspect them.  “The bitterness of a blighted hope were better than the agony of suspense.”

A smile of pity and contempt rested upon the fair face of the lady, as she turned her glance from him to the papers on the table.  There lay Maxwell’s letter, with the envelope in which she had returned it!  She only pointed to it, and looked into his face to read the shame and confusion her discovery must create.

Maxwell’s pallid cheek reddened, as he perceived that his deceit was exposed; but he instantly recovered his self-possession, and said,

“Pardon this little subterfuge.  I permitted myself to descend to it, that I might gain a moment’s time to plead with you for the heart which is wasting away beneath your coldness.  You do not, you cannot, know the misery I have endured in possessing the love upon which you so cruelly frown.”