“I recollect!” and there was no more talk for several squares.

Rosa was getting alarmed at the thought of her temerity in reverting to this incident in their former intercourse, and meditating the expediency of entering upon an apology, which might, after all, augment, rather than correct the mischief she had done, when Frederic accosted her as if there had been no hiatus in the dialogue.

“I recollect!” he repeated, just as before.  “It was upon the back piazza at Ridgeley, after breakfast on that warm September morning, when the air was a silvery haze, and there was no dew upon the roses.  I, too, have grown older—­I trust, wiser and stronger since I talked so largely of my career—­what I hoped to be and to do.  When did you see her—­Miss Aylett,” abruptly, and with a total change of manner.

“The Rubicon is forded,” thought Rosa, complacently, the while her compassion for him was sincere and strong.  “He can never shut his heart inexorably against me after this.”

Aloud, she replied after an instant’s hesitation designed to prepare him for what was to follow—­“I was with Mabel for several days last May.  We have not met since.”

“She is alive—­and well?” he asked, anxiously.

An inexplicable something in her manner warned him that all was not right.

“She is—­or was, when I last heard news of her; we do not correspond.  She does not live at Ridgeley now.”

There she stopped, before adding the apex to the nicely graduated climax.

“Not live with her brother!  I do not understand.”

“Have you not heard of her marriage?”

“No!”

He did not reel or tremble, but she felt that the bolt had pierced a vital part, and wisely forbore to offer consolation he could not hear.

But when he would have parted with her at the door of her uncle’s parlor, she saw how deadly pale he was, and put her hands into his, beseechingly.

“Come in!  I cannot let you go until you have said that you forgive me!”

There were tears in her eyes, and in her coaxing accents, and he yielded to the gentle face that sought to lead him into the room.  It was fearful agony that contracted his forehead and lips when he would have spoken reassuringly, and they were drops of genuine commiseration that drenched the girl’s cheeks while she listened.

“I have nothing to forgive you!  You have been all kindness and consideration—­I ought not to have asked questions, but I believed myself when I boasted of my strength.  I thought the bitterness of the heart’s death had passed.  Now, I know I never despaired before!  Great Heavens! how I loved that woman! and this is the end!”

He walked to the other side of the room.

Rosa durst not follow him even with her eyes.  She sat, her face concealed by her handkerchief, weeping many tears for him—­more for herself, until she heard his step close beside her, and he seated himself upon her sofa.