even wasted a thought upon your unhappy friend; but your silence naturally led me to conclude myself forgotten."
"Did you expect me to write to you then?"
"No, Helen—Mrs. Huntingdon," said I, blushing at the implied imputation, "Certainly not; but if you had sent me a message through your brother, or even asked him about me now and then—"
"I did ask about you, frequently. I was not going to do more," continued she, smiling, "so long as you continued to restrict yourself to a few polite enquiries about my health."
"Your brother never told me that you had mentioned my name."
"Did you ever ask him?"
"No; for I saw he did not wish to be questioned about you, or to afford the slightest encouragement or assistance to my too obstinate attachment." Helen did not reply. "And he was perfectly right," added I. But she remained in silence looking out upon the snowy
