"It is not his fault," I say, slowly; "it was all a mistake. George; all my own doing and vanity."
"I don't believe it," he cries, with flashing eyes. "You make love to any one? you let your heart go before it ever was asked for? Never! I have known you long enough, and well enough; and you could not have cared for this man without his having given you good reason."
"There was no reason," I say. "He told me he was in love with some one else. Can anything be plainer?"
"Did he tell you that at first—at the very beginning?"
"Not quite," I say, in a troubled voice; "but he did not know, he could not guess, that I should———"
A burning, shameful blush covers my cheeks, and dries up the salt pricking tears.
"By Heaven! he shall answer for it!" says George, between his teeth; and in his blue eyes is a fixed resolve that makes me tremble. "I will find him out, whoever or wherever he may be, and———"
"My poor fellow," I say, with a faint smile, "are you the one to seek redress for my imaginary wrongs? You are not my brother."
"For once I wish I were," he says, quietly; "I should then have the right to punish the scoundrel who has dared to trifle with you. Nell, won't you tell me about it? We are not lovers now, you know, we are friends, and, dear, you need never fear my pestering you with unwelcome words and attentions: I thought no shame of entreating your love when there was a hope of my winning it, but now that I know how irrevocably it is given to another, and judging your heart by my own, I accept my fate, and will bear it, please God, like a man. So could you not trust me, Nell?"
"I could trust you," I say, very gently, for the tender pity of his
