Nina was apparently listening now, and turning to him she said, “Tell her about the night when I stepped on your back and so got out of the window.”

Arthur’s face was crimson, but he answered laughingly “I fear Miggie will not think us very dignified, if I tell her of all our stolen interviews and the means used to procure them.”

Taking a new toy from his pocket he gave it to Nina, who, while examining it, forgot that night, and he went on.

“I come now to the saddest part of my story.  Nina and I continued to write, for her father did not forbid that, stipulating, however, that he should see the letters which passed between us.  He had placed her in a school at Paris, where she remained until after I was graduated and of age.  Edith,” and Arthur’s voice trembled, “I was too much a boy to know the nature of my feelings toward Nina when we were engaged, and as the time wore on my love began to wane.”

Edith’s heart beat more naturally now than it had before since the narrative commenced, but she could not forbear from saying to him, reproachfully, “Oh, Arthur.”

“It was wrong, I know,” he replied, “and I struggled against it with all my strength, particularly when I heard that she was coming home.  Griswold knew everything, and he suggested that a sight of her might awaken the olden feeling, and with a feverish anxiety I waited in Boston for the steamer which I supposed was to bring her home.  After many delays she came in a sailing vessel, but came alone.  Her father had died upon the voyage and been buried in the sea, leaving her with no friend save a Mr. Hudson, whose acquaintance they had made in Paris.”

At the mention of Mr. Hudson the toy dropped from Nina’s fingers and the blue eyes flashed up into Edith’s face with a more rational expression than she had heretofore observed in them.

“What is it, darling?” she asked, as she saw there was something Nina would say.

The lip quivered like that of a grieved child, while Nina answered softly, “I did love Charlie better than Arthur, and it was so wicked.”

“Yes,” rejoined Arthur quickly, “Nina’s love for me had died away, and centered itself upon another.  Charlie Hudson had sought her for his wife, and while confessing her love for him she insisted that she could not be his, because she was bound to me.  This, however, did not prevent his seeking an interview with her father, who told him frankly the terrible impediment to Nina’s marriage with any one.  It was a crushing blow to young Hudson, but he still clung to her with all a brother’s devotion, soothing her grief upon the sea, and caring for her tenderly until Boston was reached, and he placed her in my hands, together with a letter, which her father wrote a few days before he died.”