“My dear Carlotti:  From the first moment I saw you, I felt that you were the one destined to make me happy or miserable.  Your image has been present to me, sleeping or waking, ever since.  I can turn in no way that it is not before me.  The oftener I have met you, the more have I been charmed by the gentleness, the sweetness, the purity, and excellence of your character.  With you to walk through life by my side, I feel that my feet would tread a flowery way; but if heaven have not this blessing in store for me, I shall be, of all men, most miserable.  My heart is too full to write more.  And have I not said enough?  Love speaks in brief but eloquent language.  Dear young lady, let me hear from you speedily.  I shall be wretched until I know your decision.  Heaven give my suit a favourable issue!

Yours, devotedly,

“Herman Leland.”

A deadly paleness overspread the countenance of Florence as the letter dropped from her hands; and she leaned back against her friend to prevent falling to the floor.  But, in a little while, she recovered herself.

“And this to you?” said she, with a quivering lip, as she gazed earnestly into the face of her friend.

“Yes, Florence, that to me.”

“Can I trust my own senses?  Is there not some illusion?  Let me look at it again.”

And Florence stooped for the letter, and fixed her eyes upon it once more.  The language was plain, and the handwriting she knew too well.

“False-hearted!” she murmured, in a low and mournful voice, covering her face and sobbing.

“Yes, Florence,” said her friend, “he is false-hearted.  How thankful am I that you have escaped!  Evidently in revenge for your prudent deliberation, he has sought an alliance with another.  Had that other one accepted his heartless proposal, he would have met your favourable answer to his suit with insult.”

For a long time, Florence wept on the bosom of her friend.  Then her feelings grew calmer, and her mind became clear.

“What an escape!” fell from her lips as she raised her head and turned her still pale face toward Carlotti.  “Thanks, my wiser friend, for your timely, yet gentle warning!  Your eyes saw deeper than mine.”

“Yes, yes; you have made an escape!” said Carlotti.  “With such a man, your life could only have been wretched.”

“Have you answered his letter?” asked Florence.

“Not yet.  But if you are inclined to do so, we will, on the same sheet of paper and under the same envelope, each decline the honour of an alliance.  Such a rebuke he deserves, and we ought to give it.”

And such a rebuke they gave.

A few months later, and Leland led to the altar a young lady reputed to be an heiress.

A year afterward, just on the eve of Florence’s marriage to a gentleman in every way worthy to take her happiness in his keeping, she sat alone with her fast friend Carlotti.  They were conversing of the bright future.