"I come now to the saddest part of my story. Nina and I continued
to write, for her father did not forbid that, stipulating,
however, that he should see the letters which passed between us.
He had placed her in a school at Paris, where she remained until
after I was graduated and of age. Edith," and Arthur's voice
trembled, "I was too much a boy to know the nature of my feelings
toward Nina when we were engaged, and as the time wore on my love
began to wane."
Edith's heart beat more naturally now than it had before since the
narrative commenced, but she could not forbear from saying to him,
reproachfully, "Oh, Arthur."
"It was wrong, I know," he replied, "and I struggled against it
with all my strength, particularly when I heard that she was
coming home. Griswold knew everything, and he suggested that a
sight of her might awaken the olden feeling, and with a feverish
anxiety I waited in Boston for the steamer which I supposed was to
bring her home. After many delays she came in a sailing vessel,
but came alone.
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