She woke at once to a realization of his position. “Oh Mr. Ensign,” she murmured, “can you doubt my regard or the truth of my friendship? It is for me to doubt; I have caused you such pain, and as you may think, so ruthlessly and with such lack of consideration. I have been peculiarly placed,” she blushingly proceeded. “A woman does not always know her own heart, or if she does, sometimes hesitates to yield to its secret impulses. I have led you astray these last few weeks, but I first went astray myself. The real path in which I ought to tread, was only last night revealed to me. I can say no more, Mr. Ensign.”
“Nor is it necessary,” replied he. “You have chosen the better path, and the better man. May life abound in joys for you, Miss Fairchild.”
She drew herself up and her hand went involuntarily to her heart. “It is not joy I seek,” said she, “but—”
“What?” He looked at her face lit with that heavenly gleam that visited it in rare moments of deepest emotion, and wondered.
“Joy is in seeing the one you love happy,” cried she; “earth holds none that is sweeter or higher.”
“Then may that be yours,” he murmured, manfully subduing the jealous pang natural under the circumstances. And taking the hand she held out to him, he kissed it with greater reverence and truer affection than when, in the first joyous hours of their intercourse, he carried it so gallantly to his lips.
And she—oh, difference of time and feeling—did not remember as of yore, the noble days of chivalry, though he was in this moment, so much more than ever the true knight and the reproachless cavalier.
For Paula’s heart was heavy. Fears too unsubstantial to be met and vanquished, had haunted her steps all day. The short note which Mr.