many things; but on this one point most heartless and unprincipled. He scems, however, to regret his conduct to Mrs, Gordon, and I believe, after all, he talks worse than be acts. He may havo been a male-fiirt in hia comparatively boyish days, but now he surely must have more regard for a woman's feelings than lo win her heart by these silent, though seductive attentions of which he epeaks, and then desert her, justifying himeelf by the mockery of not having told her he loved her.”
‘The thoughts which were passing through Alford’s mind when he asked his companion if he deemed a first Jove the most enduring, our readers have perhaps divined. Ho waa thinking if he might not win the widow, and, although her fortune was not without some influence ‘over him, we will do him the justice to say that, at that mament, regret for having tampered with the feclings of the only woman whe hed touched his heart, was cer tainly uppermost, He pondered over the subject long after Ewing left him.
“Yes!” he said, riving, “I will woo you now scri- ously. If you ever really loved me—and I feel that you once did—it will be no very difficult task to kindle old feclings in yout bosom; I will throw myself on your kind heart for forgiveness for the wrong I have done you; and—” he paused and said smiling confidently, “we will yet be happy.”
Henry Alford wae, aa hie friend had eaid, of @ really noble nature; but alas! it hud been sadly corrupted by the world, as his crecd on innocent Mlirtations witnessed. He was, however, good-looking and talented; he had risen to some note in his profession; and it was therefore with no misgivings, or very slight ones, that he sought a renewal of his intimacy with Mrs. Gordon, for the purpose of becoming a suitor for her hand.
If Emily Maxwell had touched his heart, the beautiful widow won his love. Alford had been a visitor at her mansion, but a short time, when he felt that if he had began his suit as 8 reparation due to her he had slighted, he now continued it as necessary to his own happiness, Mrs. Gordon was indeed the same as Emily Maawell, but how immeasurably improved. Not only was her beauty of @ more lofty and entrancing character; not only was her intellect expanded and refined; not only was she gifted with accomplishments such as few of her sex could boast of; but her heart seemed to have gained deeper tone from the trials it had undergone— 10 have been, as it were, chastened and purified in the furnace of affliction. The love of Emily Maxwell would have been pure and deep, but after alt only that of a girl; the love of Mrs, Gordon was such a3 a woman, in all the full maturity of her aflections, has to bestow, And Alford felt that, having once posseased the love of the girl, he had a key to the affections of the woman,
In this conviction he daily grew more confirmed. No one visited the proud mansion of Mrs. Gordon, who seemed a more welcome visitant. If sho did not blush at his entrance as she would have done eight years before, she welcomed him with a cordiality which there was no mistaking. She sang for him, she pro- mennded with him, and she danced with him—for who loos not dance at twenty-six?—and there was nothing” wanting in her demeanor toward him, to assure him of her fove, exeept the absence of that conscious ember- rasament in his presence which once cheracterized her. But then che was a blushing girl, and now she was a calm, collected woman. ‘The difference was everything.
“I will propose for her this very evening,” said Alford to himself, about six weeks after he had renewed bis visits to her, “she mast love me—she docs love me—I will beg her forgiveness on my knees, and seal it with kiss as in former days.””
That night the lover found his mistress alone, and in a few minutes was on bis knees, offering ber his band and heart. But, when he came to the crisis he could not tell her how he had once abused her love—he could not do so even to sue for her forgiveness.
“Rise,” naid the widow; but her accents were so calm and passionleas, that, for the first time, her lover felt a misgiving of the success of his suit. His fears were increased when he arose and took a seat beside her on the sofa, She did not avert her face, her eyes did not seck the ground, there was no conscious blush on her cheek; but her whole demeanor wos aa collected him: he felt a pang such as he had never experienced before, It was e pang not only of mortified vanity, but of hopeless agonizing love.
«Listen to me, Alford,” said Mrs, Gordon, “I am not surprised at this—you see Iam not—for I have expected it daily for the last fortnight. You start, hut recollect Lam not as I was when we met in other deye. Travel and sorrow and years have made me a different being, have taught me to read the hearts of olhere ay they once read my own. It is unnecessary to refor to our former intimacy at length, but I must do so partially in order to explain my present determination, You know how you sought my society, how you were ever ready with those little attentions that our sex delight to receive, how you modulated your voice to a whisper when you spoke to me and to me alone. You remember all this, and that these attentions continued for months. Ate you sur~ ptised, therefore, that’ learned to love you—deeply, fervently, unreservedly? It is true you gave me no reason, from any words you suid, to believe that you loved me; but is not the eloqueneo of the eye, the voice, the look even moro expressive than that of words? Yes! Henry Alford you Anew I loved you—you in- tended that I should—and yet you deserted me. You left me without explanation, In the fecesses of my �
