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And Cunnington had rejoined her, and Anna's lovely head was lying on his shoulder, her breath fanned his cheek, her long ringlets floated on his breast.

Poor Cunnington, he knew he was loved, and he strained Anna to his bosom. The action recalled the weeping girl to her she raised her head, she dried her tears, her sobs were hushed, but her face was covered with burning blushes.

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Forgive me, Cunnington, I have been

very weak," she said; "oh, forgive me!"

"It is the happiest moment of my life," said the intoxicated lover.

"Oh, say not so, for then this glimmering of happiness must be the last! Silly, silly girl that I was, to place so much reliance on my own strength! Cunnington, I blush for this moment, and it is humbling enough, for I have never blushed for such another before, let it be the last; you have read

my secret, and to your keeping, as a man of honour and an Englishman, I consign it.

I shall shortly be wedded to . . . . to.... never mind, never mind, I cannot be yours. We may meet again in England, but do not try to see me, not until you have placed such a guard over your own heart, that my own will feel its shielding influence. Oh, Cunnington, to love now is a youthful weakness, but hereafter it will be a crime!"

"But why give your hand without your heart ?"

"Ask me no questions," said Anna; “it will not alter my fate,-it is sealed. Cunnington, you must forget me."

"That I cannot do, but I will not give you one moment's pang of regret to know that you are wedded to another is a sufficient guarantee for my honour; and the discovery that I am not indifferent to you, shall be the treasured secret of my heart."

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Anna could say no more; her feelings were acute, her grief very strong and, continuing to turn over the drawings mechanically, Cunnington chanced to meet with a miniature of Anna in a small case. "Give me this!" he cried, holding up the picture.

"Take it," said Anna; "it is the last which the baron had drawn for himself. Take it—it is but the shadow; he will soon possess the original."

"Is it possible!" exclaimed Cunnington; and then he understood all the generosity which had actuated Anna's motives, since she owned it was not love.

Oh, make no rash vows which are binding for ever!" he cried, looking almost compassionately at her who was to receive the proud baron's homage. "Fly with me, Anna, let me bear you hence ?"

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cried the Italian beauty, with a mixture of sadness and dignity; never dare to ask Anna di Lucia to forfeit her word." "Pardon me," cried Cunnington. "We had better separate," said Anna, turning away from that look of young beseeching tenderness which had wrung her secret from her own lips.

Again Cunnington was in his chamber; he saw around him his packed-up boxes and trunks, and he surveyed them with sad satisfaction, and, burying his face in his hands, he contemplated the dreary future which the first burst of anguish conjures up.

Though many weak points were continually jarring together, and disturbing the harmony of Cunnington's character, still his heart was filled with many high feelings of honour; it was, therefore, that the future was to all appearance so blank.

He had lost Anna di Lucia for ever; he was sure no entreaties on his part could alter her determination, and he was too honorable to try all the sophistry of love— that sophistry which unhappily sometimes cancels hallowed bonds.

As to Alice Lemington, he felt now for the first time how deeply he had injured her; for he determined not to approach her as a lover, since he had been as unfaithful to her as if he had actually won Anna's hand.

So the future seemed dreary and blank, and Cunnington felt as if his very heart was breaking. Ever and anon he heard through his open casement a sound between a cough and an hysterical sob, and he knew that Anna was weeping in the chamber below.

But Anna had raised the whole sex in Cunnington's opinion by that last sad con

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