Lawrence Newt said to himself, half bitterly, "So you have waked up at last, have you?
You have found that because a beautiful young woman is kind to you, it does not follow that she will one day be your wife." Neither spoke.

"She sees," thought Lawrence Newt, "that I love her, and she wishes to spare me the pain of hearing that it is in vain." "At least," he thought, with tenderness and longing toward the beautiful girl that walked beside him--"at least, I was not mistaken.

She was nobler and lovelier than I supposed." At length he said, "I have written to ask Hope Wayne to go and hear my preacher to-morrow.
Miss Amy, will you go too ?" She looked at him and bowed.

Her eyes were glistening with tears.
"My dearest Miss Amy," said Lawrence Newt, impetuously, seizing her hand, as her face turned toward him.
"Oh! please, Mr.Newt--please--" she answered, hastily, in a tone of painful entreaty, withdrawing her hand from his grasp, confused and very pale.
The words died upon his lips.
"Forgive me--forgive me!" he said, with an air of surprise and sadness, and with a voice trembling with tenderness and respect.

"She can not bear to give me the pain of plainly saying that she does not love me," thought Lawrence; and he gently took her hand and laid her arm in his, as if to show that now they understood each other perfectly, and all was well.
"At least, Miss Amy," he said, by-and-by, tranquilly, and with the old cheerfulness, "at least we shall be friends." Amy Waring bent her head and was silent.