After parting with Edith, Edwin had no heart to fulfill his engagement with Miss Linmore.  He could think of nothing but the maiden he had so cruelly deserted; and more than half repented of what he had done.  When the hour for the appointment came, his mind struggled awhile in the effort to obtain a consent to go, and then decided against meeting, at least on that occasion, the woman whose charms had led him to do so great a wrong to a loving and confiding heart.  No excuse but that of indisposition could be made, under the circumstances; and, attempting to screen himself, in his own estimation, from falsehood, he assumed, in his own thoughts, a mental indisposition, while, in the billet he dispatched, he gave the idea of bodily indisposition.  The night that followed was, perhaps, the most unhappy one the young man had ever spent.  Days passed, and he heard nothing from Edith.  He could not call to see her, for she had interdicted that.  Henceforth they must be as strangers.  The effect produced by his words had been far more painful than was anticipated; and he felt troubled when he thought about what might be their ultimate effects.

On the fifth day, as the young man was walking with Catharine Linmore, he came suddenly face to face with Edith.  There was a change in her that startled him.  She looked at him, in passing, but gave no signs of recognition.

“Wasn’t that Miss Walter?” inquired the companion of Edwin, in a tone of surprise.

“Yes,” replied Florence.

“What’s the matter with her?  Has she been sick?  How dreadful she looks!”

“I never saw her look so bad,” remarked the young man.  As they walked along, Miss Linmore kept alluding to Edith, whose changed appearance had excited her sympathies.

“I’ve met her only a few times,” said she, “but I have seen enough of her to give me a most exalted opinion of her character.  Some one called her very plain; but I have not thought so.  There is something so good about her, that you cannot be with her long without perceiving a real beauty in the play of her countenance.”

“No one can know her well, without loving her for the goodness of which you have just spoken,” said Edwin.

“You are intimate with her?”

“Yes.  She has been long to me as a sister.”  There was a roughness in the voice of Florence as he said this.

“She passed without recognizing you,” said Miss Linmore.

“So I observed.”

“And yet I noticed that she looked you in the face, though with a cold, stony, absent look.  It is strange!  What can have happened to her?”

“I have observed a change in her for some time past,” Florence ventured to say; “but nothing like this.  There is something wrong.”

When the time to part, with his companion came, Edwin Florence felt a sense of relief.  Weeks now passed without his seeing or hearing any thing from Edith.  During the time he met Miss Linmore frequently; and encouraged to approach, he at length ventured to speak to her of what was in his heart.  The young lady heard with pleasure, and, though she did not accept the offered hand, by no means repulsed the ardent suitor.  She had not thought of marriage, she said, and asked a short time for reflection.