"'Lovers love the western star,'" quoted Rosa, merrily, taking

Mabel's work from her and throwing it upon the bed. "Come and enjoy

the holy hour with me."

They leaned together upon the window-sill, their young faces tinted

by the changeful hues of the sky, both thoughtful and mute, until

Rosa broke the silence by a heavy sigh.

"O Mabel, you should be a happy, happy girl; blessed among women.

You can love--freely and joyously--and have pride and faith in the

one beloved."

"As you will some day," rejoined the other, drawing nearer to her,

"when you, in your turn, shall know the unspeakable sweetness of

unquestioning faith--of utter dependence upon him to whom you have

given your heart."

"Utter dependence!" echoed Rosa. "That would mean utter wreck of

heart, hope--everything--should the anchor give way. It is a

hazardous experiment, ma belle!"

The other looked down at her with simple fearlessness.

"'For it was founded upon a rock!'" she repeated softly; yet the

exultant ring of her accent vibrated upon the ear like a joyous

challenge.

Rosa's fretful movement was involuntary.

"Mine would drag in the sand at every turn of the tide, every rise

of the wind, if I were to follow your advice, and say 'yes' to the

pertinacious Alfred," she said reproachfully.

"Don't say advice, dear!" corrected the other. "I only endeavored to

convince you that there must be latent tenderness beneath your

sufferance of Mr. Branch's devotion; that if you really were averse

to the thought of marrying him, you could not take pleasure in his

society or enjoy the marks of his attachment which are apparent to

you and to everybody else."

"Can't you understand," said the beauty, petulantly, "that it is one

thing to flirt with a man in public, and another to cherish his

image in private? There is no better touchstone of affection than

the holiness and calm of an hour like this. If Frederic were with

you, the scene would be the fairer, the season more sacred for its

association with thoughts of him and his love. Whereas, my Alfred's

adoring platitudes would disgust me with the sunset, with the world,

and with myself, for permitting him to haunt my presence and hang

upon my smile--foppish barnacle that he is! If you knew how I

despise myself sometimes!"

"Dear Rosa! I shall never try again to persuade that you care for

him as a woman should for the man GOD intended her to marry. But why

not act worthily of yourself--justly to him, and reject him

decidedly?"




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