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 had any choice when. After pausing a moment she said, "To-morrow morning at ten."

She could scarcely have felt worse on returning to her chamber if that letter had been her death-warrant. It lay in her lap many minutes unopened. The crisis had come, a crisis as it were between life and death. She never faltered a moment as to her duty, nor wavered in her attachment, but she knew as well as Ernest the difference between maintaining self-imposed restraints when there is an object to be gained, and after the conditions requiring them no longer exist. Then reproaching herself for indulging in such a doubtful strain instead of rejoicing over its contents, which she assumed to be what they really were, she began to read it. The tears came thick and fast, causing her to stop many times before it was finished. Stronger than any other consideration rose the all conquering power of love. If she refused him, not only would she incur the risk of his ruin, but carry within her own soul the blight occasioned by the sealing up of her young heart's affections, which would render it callous to every other human love. A sensation of joy and hope, such as those only can know who have witnessed the rescue of a dear one from some imminent danger and anxiously watched the signs of returning consciousness, swept away every emotion of doubt and fear, and her soul rose in thanksgiving to Him who is the source of every joy. As the dinner hour approached she thought of her father and the difficulties that awaited her in gaining his consent, who had always been an indulgent parent, and