Nearly a month had elapsed since he had called to see Eveline, and she was in a state of tremulous doubt and anxiety. She had been out on a short visit to a friend—the first time she had been in the street for a week—when, in returning home, her eyes suddenly fell upon Pascal a short distance in advance of her. He was approaching. The heart of Eveline gave a sudden strong bound, and then fluttered in her bosom. At the instant she saw the young man, his eyes met hers. She continued to look at him as they drew near, but his eyes turned from her face, and fixed themselves upon some object beyond. He passed without noticing her.
Eveline felt, for a few moments, as if she would suffocate. It required her utmost efforts and presence of mind to keep from losing command of herself in the street. She had walked on a few squares farther, when the face of a young lady friend, to whom she was much attached, presented itself among the passengers on the side-walk. Eveline paused, and was about speaking, when the young lady nodded coldly and passed on. Another friend whom she met, appeared under restraint as she exchanged greetings with her, and then, after a few brief inquiries as to how she was and had been, moved away.
Not less surprised than pained was Eveline at these unlooked-for marks of estrangement in old friends. On arriving at home, she ran up into her chamber, and, after closing the door and laying off her bonnet, threw herself upon a bed and gave way to a violent burst of grief. In the midst of this wild excitement of feeling, Eunice came in, and, seeing the agitation of her sister, inquired, with much concern, the cause. A more passionate gush of tears was the only answer she received. After the mind of Eveline had, in a measure, grown calm, she said, in reply to the affectionate inquiries of Eunice,
“I met Henry in the street, and he did not speak to me.”
“He could not have seen you, sister,” replied Eunice, in an earnest voice; “I am sure he could not.”
“And I am sure he did, for he looked me in the face.” And the tears of Eveline flowed afresh. “He has not been to the house for a month. Something is wrong. I met Mary Grant, and she, instead of stopping with her usual pleasant smile, nodded coldly and passed on. I also saw Adelaide Winters, who merely paused a moment, and spoke in a very distant way. What can it all mean, Eunie? I am sure there must be some dreadful story told about me, or why would my friends treat me so distantly, and Henry, above all things, refuse to know me?”
And again the maiden wept bitterly.
“Whatever evil judgment there may be of you, Evie,” said Eunice, with great tenderness, drawing her arm around the neck of Eveline as she spoke, “is a false judgment. And however painful the consequences may be, you have, in the conscious innocence of any wrong, that to sustain you which will keep your head above the waters. If Henry’s trust in you be so poorly based, that it can be blown away by a breath of detraction—if he be so ready to believe an evil report against you—he never could have really known you or truly loved you, and, therefore, is himself not worthy the pure love of your heart. It may cost you a severe struggle to do so, but, Evie, give him up! Erase his image from your heart. Pardon me for saying now, what I have always thought, that Henry Pascal is not worthy of you.”
Eveline started at this, with an indignant expression on her face and word on her tongue; but she checked herself as she met the calm, truthful, loving eyes of her sister fixed earnestly upon her.
“I have uttered what was in my heart, Evie. That my impression has been as I have said, I cannot help. Of the truth of it, I have not a doubt. To speak out as I feel, and yet as the sister who loves you truly, I will go farther, and say, that I am glad of almost any circumstance that would try his affection for you, and more glad that he has turned away coldly from one he was not capable of loving as she deserved. Time, Evie, will prove you the truth of what I now say.”