“I received your letter yesterday, Mr. Livingstone.  I was anxious to see you to-day, in order that I might prevent you from speaking to my father.  I do not say anything of the kind of affection you can feel for me—­me, whom you have only seen once.  All I shall say is, that the sooner we both forget what I must call folly, the better.”

She took the airs of a woman considerably older and more experienced than himself.  He thought her haughty; she was only miserable.

“You are mistaken,” said he, more quietly and with more dignity than was likely from his previous conduct.  “I will not allow you to characterise as folly what might be presumptuous on my part—­I had no business to express myself so soon—­but which in its foundation was true and sincere.  That I can answer for most solemnly.  It is possible, though it may not be a usual thing, for a man to feel so strongly attracted by the charms and qualities of a woman, even at first sight, as to feel sure that she, and she alone, can make his happiness.  My folly consisted—­there you are right—­in even dreaming that you could return my feelings in the slightest degree, when you had only seen me once:  and I am most truly ashamed of myself.  I cannot tell you how sorry I am, when I see how you have compelled yourself to come and speak to me when you are so ill.”

She staggered into a chair, for with all her wish for his speedy dismissal, she was obliged to be seated.  His hand was upon the bell.

“No, don’t!” she said.  “Wait a minute.”

His eyes, bent upon her with a look of deep anxiety, touched her at that moment, and she was on the point of shedding tears; but she checked herself, and rose again.

“I will go,” said he.  “It is the kindest thing I can do.  Only, may I write?  May I venture to write and urge what I have to say more coherently?”

“No!” said she.  “Don’t write.  I have given you my answer.  We are nothing, and can be nothing to each other.  I am engaged to be married.  I should not have told you if you had not been so kind.  Thank you.  But go now.”

The poor young man’s face fell, and he became almost as white as she was for the instant.  After a moment’s reflection, he took her hand in his, and said: 

“May God bless you, and him too, whoever he be!  But if you want a friend, I may be that friend, may I not? and try to prove that my words of regard were true, in a better and higher sense than I used them at first.”  And kissing her passive hand, he was gone and she was left sitting alone.

But solitude was not what she could bear.  She went quickly upstairs, and took a strong dose of sal-volatile, even while she heard Miss Monro calling to her.

“My dear, who was that gentleman that has been closeted with you in the drawing-room all this time?”

And then, without listening to Ellinor’s reply, she went on: