One day he called on Edith.  He was not as cold as he had been, but he was, from some cause, evidently embarrassed.

“Edith,” said he, taking her hand—­it was weeks since he had touched her hand except in meeting and parting—­“I need not say how highly I regard you.  How tenderly I love you, even as I could love a pure and gentle sister.  But—­”

He paused, for he saw that Edith’s face had become very pale; and that she rather gasped for air than breathed.

“Are you sick?” he asked, in a voice of anxiety.

Edith was recovering herself.

“No,” she replied, faintly.

A deep silence, lasting for the space of nearly half a minute, followed.  By this time the maiden, through a forced effort, had regained the command of her feelings.  Perceiving this, Edwin resumed—­

“As I said, Edith, I love you as I could love a pure and gentle sister.  Will you accept this love?  Will you be to me a friend—­a sister?”

Again there passed upon the countenance of Edith a deadly palor; while her lips quivered, and her eyes had a strange expression.  This soon passed away, and again something of its former repose was in her face.  At the first few words of Florence, Edith withdrew the hand he had taken.  He now sought it again, but she avoided the contact.

“You do not answer me, Edith,” said the young man.

“Do you wish an answer?” This was uttered in a scarcely audible voice.

“I do, Edith,” was the earnest reply.  “Let there be no separation between us.  You are to me what you have ever been, a dearly prized friend.  I never meet you that my heart does not know an impulse for good—­I never think of you but—­”

“Let us be as strangers!” said Edith, rising abruptly.  And turning away, she fled from the room.

Slowly did the young man leave the apartment in which they were sitting, and without seeing any member of the family, departed from the house.  There was a record on his memory that time would have no power to efface.  It was engraved too deeply for the dust of years to obliterate.  As he went, musing away, the pale face of Edith was before him; and the anguish of her voice, as she said, “Let us be as strangers,” was in his ears.  He tried not to see the one, nor hear the other.  But that was impossible.  They had impressed themselves into the very substance of his mind.

Edwin Florence had an engagement for that very evening.  It was with one of the most brilliant, beautiful, and fascinating women he had ever met.  A few months before, she had crossed his path, and from that time he was changed towards Edith.  Her name was Catharine Linmore.  The earnest attentions of Florence pleased her, and as she let the pleasure she felt be seen, she was not long in winning his heart entirely from his first love.  In this, she was innocent; for she knew nothing of the former state of his affections towards Edith.