How sweet were the maiden's dreams that night, for, in every picture that wandering fancy drew, was the image of her lover! Daily thus they met for a long time.

Then there was a change in Edwin Florence.

His visits were less frequent, and when he met the young girl, whose very life was bound up in his, his manner had in it a reserve that chilled her heart as if an icy hand had been laid upon it.

She asked for no explanation of the change; but, as he grew colder, she shrunk more and more into herself, like a flower folding its withering leaves when touched by autumn's frosty fingers.
One day he called on Edith.

He was not as cold as he had been, but he was, from some cause, evidently embarrassed.
"Edith," said he, taking her hand--it was weeks since he had touched her hand except in meeting and parting--"I need not say how highly I regard you.