“It is necessary that I should,” she replied, “both for your sake and my own.  Know, then, that my heart is not at my own disposal; it is engaged to another.”

“I can only listen, Miss Goodwin—­I can only listen—­but—­but—­excuse me—­proceed.”

“My heart, as I said, is engaged to another—­and that other is your brother Charles.”

Woodward fixed his eyes upon her face—­already scarlet with blushes, and when she ventured to raise hers upon him, she beheld a countenance sunk apparently in the deepest sorrow.

“Alas!  Miss Goodwin,” he replied, “you have filled my heart with a double grief.  I could resign you—­of course it would and must be with the most inexpressible anguish—­but to resign you to such a—.  O!” he proceeded, shaking his head sorrowfully, “you know not in what a position of torture you place me.  You said you believed me to be a gentleman; so I trust—­I feel—­I am, and what is more, a brother, and an affectionate brother, if I—­O, my God, what am I to do?  How, knowing what I know of that unfortunate young man, could I ever have expected this?  In the meantime I thank you for your confidence, Miss Goodwin; I hope it was God himself who inspired you to place it in me, and that it may be the means of your salvation from—­but perhaps I am saying too much; he is my brother; excuse me, I am not just now cool and calm enough to say what I would wish, and what you, poor child, neither know nor suspect, and perhaps I shall never mention it; but you must give me time.  Of course, under the circumstances you have mentioned, I resign all hopes of my own happiness with you; but, so help me Heaven, if I shall resign all hopes of yours.  I cannot now speak at further length; I am too much surprised, too much agitated, too much shocked at what I have heard; but I shall see you, if you will allow me, to-morrow; and as I cannot become your husband, perhaps I may become your guardian angel.  Allow me to see you to-morrow.  You have taken me so completely by surprise that I. am quite incapable of speaking on this subject, as perhaps—­but I know not yet—­I must become more cool, and reflect deeply upon what my conduct ought to be.  Alas! my dear Miss Goodwin, little you suspect how completely your happiness and misery are in my power.  Will you permit me to see you to-morrow?”

“Certainly, sir,” replied Alice, “since it seems that you have something of more than ordinary importance to communicate to me—­something, which, I suppose, I ought to know.  I shall see you.”

He then took his leave with an air of deep melancholy and sorrow, and left poor Alice in a state of anxiety very difficult to be described.  Her mind became filled with a sudden and unusual alarm; she trembled like an aspen leaf; and when her mother came to ask her the result of the interview, she found her pale as death and in tears.

“Why, Alley, my child,” said she, “what is the matter?  Why do you look so much alarmed, and why are you in tears?  Has the man been rude or offensive to you?”