“I wish I had a shadow of hope that her heart ached also!  Mr. Hammond, I am very wretched, and have come to you for sympathy and counsel.  Of course you have seen for a long time that I loved her very devotedly, that I intended if possible to make her my wife.  Although she was very shy and guarded, and never gave me any reason to believe she returned my affection, I thought—­I hoped she would not reject me, and I admired her even more because of her reticence, for I could not value a love which I knew was mine unasked.  To-day I mentioned the subject to her, told her how entirely my heart was hers, offered her my hand and fortune, and was refused most decidedly.  Her manner more than her words distressed and discouraged me.  She showed so plainly that she felt only friendship for me, and entertained only regret for the pain she gave me.  She was kind and delicate, but oh! so crushingly positive!  I saw that I had no more place in her heart than that whip-poor-will in the cedars yonder.  And yet I shall not give her up; while I live I will cling to the hope that I may finally win her.  Thousands of women have rejected a man again and again and at last yielded and accepted him; and I do not believe Edna can withstand the devotion of a lifetime.”

“Do not deceive yourself, Gordon.  It is true many women are flattered by a man’s perseverance, their vanity is gratified.  They first reproach themselves for the suffering they inflict, then gratitude for constancy comes to plead for the inconsolable suitor, and at last they persuade themselves that such devotion can not fail to make them happy.  Such a woman Edna is not, and if I have correctly understood her character, never can be.  I sympathize with you, Gordon, and it is because I love you so sincerely that I warn you against a hope destined to cheat you.”

“But she admitted that she loved no one else, and I can see no reason why, after a while, she may not give me her heart.”

“I have watched her for years.  I think I know her nature better than any other human being, and I tell you, Edna Earl will never coax and persuade herself to marry any man, no matter what his position and endowments may be.  She is not a dependent woman; the circumstances of her life have forced her to dispense with companionship, she is sufficient for herself; and while she loves her friends warmly and tenderly, she feels the need of no one.  If she ever marries, it will not be from gratitude or devotion, but because she learned to love, almost against her will, some strong, vigorous thinker, some man whose will and intellect masters hers, who compels her heart’s homage, and without whose society she can not persuade herself to live.”

“And why may I not hope that such will, one day, be my good fortune?”

For a few minutes Mr. Hammond was silent, walking up and down the wide portico; and when he resumed his seat, he laid his hand affectionately on the young man’s shoulder, saying: