"I answered,—'Your friend can best explain what she means.'
"Then out came the secret. A shock of surprise sent the color from Margaret's face; and raising her eyes, she asked, quite calmly, but in a low and unnatural tone,—
"'Is this so?'
"I said, 'I suppose I cannot deny it.'
"'You are really going?'
"'I am really going.'
"She could not hide her agitation. Her white face betrayed her. Then I was glad, wickedly glad, in my heart,—and vain enough to be gratified that others should behold and know I held a power over her. Well,—but I suffered for that folly.
"'I feel hurt,' she said, after a little while, 'because you have not told me this. You have no sister,' (this was spoken very quietly,) 'and it would have been a privilege for me to take a sister's place, and do for you those little things which sisters do for brothers who are going on long journeys.'
"I was choked;—it was a minute before I could speak. Then I said that I saw no reason why she should tax her time or thoughts to do anything for me.
"'Oh, you know,' she said, 'you have been kind to me,—so much kinder than I have deserved!'
"It was unendurable,—the pathos of the words! I was blinded, stifled,—I almost groaned aloud. If we had been alone, there our trial would have ended. I should have snatched her to my soul. But the eyes of others were upon us, and I steeled myself.
"'Besides,' I said, 'I know of nothing that you can do for me.'
"'There must be many little things;—to begin with, there is your glove, which you are tearing to pieces.'
"True, I was tearing my glove,—she was calm enough to observe it! That made me angry.
"'Give it to me; I will mend it for you. Haven't you other gloves that need mending?'
"I, who had triumphed, was humbled.
"My heart was breaking,—and she talked of mending gloves! I did not omit to thank her. I coldly arose to go.
"Well, I felt now that it was all over. The next day I secured my passage in the steamer in which my friends were to sail. I took pains that Margaret should hear of that, too. Then came the preparations for travel,—arranging affairs, writing letters, providing myself with a compact and comfortable outfit. Europe was in prospect—Paris, Switzerland, Italy, lands to which my dreams had long since gone before me, and to which I now turned my eyes with reawakening aspirations. A new glory arose upon my life, in the light of which Margaret became a fading star. It was so much easier than I had thought, to give her up, to part from her! I found that I could forget her, in the excitement of a fresh and novel experience; while she—could she forget me? When lovers part, happy is he who goes! alas for the one that is left behind!
"One day, when I was busy with the books which I was to take with me, a small package was handed in. I need not tell you that I experienced a thrill, when I saw Margaret's handwriting upon the wrapper. I tore it open,—and what think you I found? My glove! Nothing else. I smiled bitterly, to see how neatly she had mended it; then I sighed; then I said, 'It is finished!' and tossed the glove disdainfully into my trunk.
"On the day before that fixed for the sailing of the steamer, I made farewell calls upon many of my friends,—among others, upon Margaret. But, through the perversity of pride and will, I did not go alone,—I took with me Joseph, a mutual acquaintance, who was to be my compagnon de voyage. I felt some misgivings, to see how Margaret had changed; she was so softened, and so pale!
"The interview was a painful one, and I cut it short. As we were going out, she gently detained me, and said,--
"'Did you receive—your glove?'
"'Oh, yes,' I said, and thanked her for mending it.
