I knew his affections were engaged; I knew he never could be mine, and yet I loved him.

Oh, Mary, do not scorn my weakness; you have wrung my secret from me, do not, oh, do not betray me.

There is no shame in loving one so good, so holy, and yet--and yet--Mary, dearest Mary, promise me you will not speak it--I cannot rest unless you do; let it pass your lips to _none_." "It shall not, my Ellen; be calm, your secret shall die with me, dearest," replied Mary, earnestly, for Ellen's feelings completely overpowered her, and bursting sobs choked her utterance.
"For me there is no hope.

Oh, could I but see him happy, I should ask no more; but, oh, to see him miserable, and feel I have no power to soothe--when--" She paused abruptly, again the burning blood dyed her cheeks, even her temples with crimson.

Mary's eyes were fixed upon her in sympathy, in love; Ellen fancied in surprise, yet suspicion.