“Did you say you were not going to marry me, Clarence?” and asking this, she cast her eyes to the ground, and sobbed like a child.

“No, girl; you ought to have known I could not.  I have no money but that which my father supplies me with to pay my board and expenses.  I have nothing to support—­”

She looked so pale he dared not say more.

“Go on,” she at length said, pressing her hand closer to her heart, lest its strong beating might too plainly betray her feelings.

“And even could I support you, my father would disown me were I to take such a step.”

“Then you never loved me, Clarence.  You only sought your own pleasure and—­and my—­my ruin?”

She broke down.  Life had nothing now for her but shame and sorrow.  Alas, the world has no pity for its children.

Hard indeed must have been his heart, had it not relented then.  He went and placed his hand upon her head, saying,

“I would marry you, Margaret, if I had money enough,” and just that moment he meant it.

She looked up through her tears to him, and seeing the expression which accompanied his words, mistook it for real sorrow at parting from her, and answered in a hopeful, bright voice,—­

“I can work ever so hard, and we might be married privately if you chose, as no one knows us, and go away.  You don’t know how hard I can work, Clarence.”

“And then, sometime we might become rich,” she continued, without looking at his face, “and I would study, too, and improve myself.  Then we could return to your parents and be forgiven.  They surely could not blame us for loving each other.  You will not forsake me, will you, Clarence?”

He bowed his head.  She thought he wept, and she continued her words of cheer till he could bear it no longer.

She laid her bursting head upon his bosom saying, “I will go away from here to-day, Clarence, and be no burden to you, till you can support us both.”

He nerved himself for the desperate emergency, and shook her off as though she was poison, saying, in cold, measured words, not to be this time misunderstood,—­

“No, it cannot be; don’t deceive yourself; you can never be my wife,” and then he left her.

Angels pity her.  Heaven have mercy on her who sank prostrate with grief that bright day on the green lap of earth.  One heart-piercing cry went up for help and mercy from above, and hope and love went out of that heart, perhaps forever.

Faster and faster flew the betrayer, as though he would elude a pursuer from whom he could not escape.  But he could not close his ears to that pleading voice, nor his eyes to that agonized look.  Aye, erring mortal, that sound will pierce your soul till some reparation, some pure, unselfish deed, washes the sin away.

“Why, Clarence, you look as pale as a ghost; what on earth has happened to you!” exclaimed his college chums, as he walked breathless and weary into the house.