It was a lamp burning in the sepulchre of buried hope.

She could no more extinguish the sacred fire than quench her own existence.
But thrown suddenly off her guard, she had betrayed this secret to unlawful eyes.

Hendrickson had read it.

And she too had read his heart.

After the lapse of more than a year they had met; and without wrong on either side had acknowledged a mutual inextinguishable love.
"You are not well, Mr.Hendrickson." Many times, and with undisguised concern, was this said by Miss Arden, during the journey to Niagara.
"Only a slight headache;" or, "I'm well enough, but feel dull;" or, "The trip from Newport fatigued me," would be answered, and an effort made to be more companionable.