When Frank and I entered the parlor of the hotel, after sending up our cards to Lulie and the other ladies from Wilmington, we found the room full of company. Strange faces among the ladies, and familiar faces among the students, were grouped on every side. All were bowing, smiling and talking in the most eager and interested manner, as they filled their dancing cards with engagements for the ball, or brought forward friends to be introduced. We had only to wait a few moments, when we heard light footfalls and the rustle of dresses on the stairway, and the next instant Lulie and her two friends came into the room and greeted us cordially.

What a fairy vision of loveliness was Lulie! Her exquisite figure, as petite as Titania’s, perfect in the bloom of womanhood, a vine-work of brown ringlets clustering around her shoulders, a sparkle in her bright eyes, and a roseate hue on her dimpled cheeks! The same beautiful being I had once adored, though more perfect now in her bewitching loveliness; the same cherry lips I had kissed before the nursery fire; the same roguish glance that had so often brought my heart into my mouth, as our eyes met across Miss Hester’s school room, and the same silvery laugh that I had thought was the sweetest music in the world. A tinge of sadness came over me as I bowed over her hand and thought of what might have been.

We passed a half hour very pleasantly, talking about old times and scenes, and making engagements for the festive occasions before us; but oh! what a yearning desire I felt to shield her from all possible harm, as I marked her fond looks turned, so often and trustfully, towards Frank’s bloated though still handsome features.

I was to escort her that night to the “Fresh” Declamation, and when we walked up the brilliantly lighted aisle of the chapel, which was thronged with the beauty of the State, I saw many a look of intense admiration directed towards the little fairy on my arm. Next morning a score of my friends came to ask the favor of an introduction, so that Lulie held quite a levee down at her hotel, though each one who called asked me in some surprise afterwards, how she came to be so intimate with “that fellow, Paning.”

Frank carried her that night to the “Soph.” speaking, and I could not but feel ashamed for her, as I marked the looks of surprise and coldness on the faces of my acquaintances, who, I felt sure, to a certain extent, classed her by her escort. After the speaking we had a little hop in the ball room, and I noticed she remained in the room only a short time, dancing one or two sets with Frank’s friends, men whom Dr. Mayland would have ordered from his parlor. I felt it was my imperative duty to advise her of it all, but I was so sure that she would attribute all my counsel to prejudice against Frank, and despise me for it, that I hesitated and delayed.

Next morning, while I was lying across my bed, enjoying the perfumed breeze that floated up from the flowery campus, Harrow, a friend and classmate, came in and sat down by me.

“Say, Smith!” he said, shading a match with his hands to keep it from being blown out, and speaking on each side of his cigar, “is that little beauty who was with Paning last night a friend of yours?”

“Yes,” I yawned; “why do you ask?”

“Because if she was anything to me I would either whip Paning or carry her away from here.”

“Why? What do you mean?” I asked, rising up on one elbow.

“Well, well,” he said, tossing the match out of the window, “it’s none of my business, perhaps; so let it be.”

“No, but you must tell me, Harrow; what have you seen or heard? The young lady and I at one time were great friends, and I still esteem her very highly, though she has not liked me much since that scoundrel Paning has taken possession of her heart. But I will do everything I can to serve her now. What do you know about them?” I rose up and sat by him on the edge of the bed.

“Paning does not respect her much, does he?” he asked, blowing smoke rings in the sunlight.

“No, that’s just it. She believes him to be the purest and best under Heaven, and trusts him blindly, while he, a villain, is trifling with her, and keeps her love only because he is proud of it. If he respected her he would not obtrude his polluted presence on her. But tell me, Harrow, what you know about her,” I continued; “if you wish, I will keep secret all you confide.”

“The deuce, no,” he said quickly; “I do not care for Paning. I would tell him about it myself, only I have no right to interfere.”

“Speak on, Harrow; what is it?”

“Well, for one thing, the very fact that she receives attention from such fellows as Paning and Donnery has lowered her in the estimation of your acquaintances; and then, even during the short time she has been here, those low fellows have originated enough scandal about her to damn a dozen women at the social bar.”

“No! Harrow, you cannot mean that; I have not heard one word against her.”

“Of course not,” he said, smoking vigorously; “nobody speaks of it before you.”

“She’s as pure as an angel,” I said, indignantly.

“I believe she is,” he replied, lolling back on the pillow; “but if she allows Paning to carry her into the company he does, she will not be thought so by others. Last night I had no lady with me, and, getting tired of dancing, I went up into the library, which you know was lit up for promenading couples. When it was pretty late, and everybody had gone down, I took down a book, and, reclining on a sofa in one of the alcoves, began to read. I had not read far before Donnery and another low fellow came into the library, each with a lady, or I had better say woman on his arm. They made some show of looking at the books and paintings, and while thus engaged Paning and Miss Mayland came in. She was leaning on his arm with an air of devotion and confidence I have never seen equalled, and they were speaking in soft, loving tones. Donnery met them, and, in his coarse way, introduced his companions. After some noisy conversation, full of slang and rude jest, they agreed that the hop was a bore, and Donnery said he would go down to Muggs’ and get some wine if they would wait and drink it in the library. They all assented except Miss Mayland, and I distinctly heard her ask Paning to see her home; but he vowed she must not leave yet, and she remained, though I knew from her silence that she felt out of place and ill at ease. When Donnery returned they took the librarian’s table and made a gay party around it. Though I could not see them, I knew that Miss Mayland was blushing at the songs and toasts that passed around; and I inferred, by Paning’s calling out in a loud tone, ‘No, not yet, Lulie,’ that she was again begging him to leave.”

“Harrow, did all this really occur as you have described it?” I asked, in indignant astonishment.

“It did, upon my honor,” he replied. “Several ladies and gentlemen, on coming to the library door and seeing who were in there, turned back down stairs, and soon after I left myself.”

“I’ll tell her of it to-day,” I said, throwing off my slippers and drawing on my boots. “Paning must be the veriest villain alive to take the woman he loves, or pretends to love, into such company.”

“He certainly did so,” said Harrow; “and, as I said before, I heard much comment this morning from those who saw Miss Mayland with such a set.”

When he rose to go I thanked him for coming to me with the information, and begged that he would explain and apologize for her presence in the library with Donnery and company to those whose opinion I valued, and whom he might hear allude to it.

During the day I was engaged so that I could not procure an interview with Lulie, and, much to my regret and annoyance, I saw her walk in the Chapel in the afternoon on Donnery’s arm, while his coarse face was lit up with an expression of triumph as he took his seat “among the high up ones,” as he said in a loud whisper to one of his friends leaning in the window.

That night the ball was to come off; and, as I buttoned my kids, and gave the last adjusting pull to the waist of my “spike,” I resolved that, as soon as I had paid the required courtesies to the lady I was going with, I would seek Lulie, and, whether it offended her or not, give her my last warning against Frank.

It was with difficulty I found her amid the throng that swayed and surged through the ball room. She was in rather a retired corner, receiving very little attention from any one. She had few engagements or none for the dance, and her usually bright face wore an expression of weariness and mental pain as I approached. She welcomed me gladly, and accepted my proposal to stroll in the campus with eagerness. The avenues were lit up, as there was no moon, and strolling down one of these, we turned aside to a rustic seat beneath a large oak. It was a quiet and secluded place; even the music in the ball room sounded soft and indistinct across the maze of shrubbery.

The opportunity was now mine, but I shrank from my duty. She would not appreciate my motives, I was sure, and would repel my counsel with scorn and indignation. Yet could I suffer Frank to betray her into imprudences that would tinge the purity of her character? Could I permit his villainous designs, palpable to all eyes but hers, to go unexposed? Could I see her threatened with evil she would not suspect till it was too late to avert it, and not warn her? No, however thankless my task might prove, for the sake of her dead mother I would tell her of her danger.

“Lulie!” I said, after some moments of silence and reflection on my part.

“What is it, Sir Solemnity?” she replied, looking into my face by the dim light of the distant lamps.

“I wish to speak to you on a very important and delicate subject, and I want you to promise me that you will believe my motives pure and disinterested in so doing. Do not fear that I am going to renew the fishing scene of our childhood; I know too well that my love is hopeless. Let memory sleep; ‘tis of the present now I wish to speak; and I want you to take off your glove and put your hand in mine, and if in what I am going to say you believe there is one single word prompted by aught save the most sacred friendship, instantly withdraw it, and I will say no more.”

She undid the lace-edged kid with a slight tremor in her fingers, and, dropping it heedlessly on the ground, laid her little hand confidingly in mine.

“There is my hand, John,” she said, “but you really frighten me with your solemn preface.”

“Well, then,” I replied, with an effort at a smile, unheeded, perhaps, in the darkness, “to come directly to the point, do you love Frank?”

I felt a quiver in her fingers as she said:

“Dear John, do not be offended, but we must not talk on that subject. I know what you would say, but ‘tis useless; I cannot believe you.”

“But, Lulie, perhaps you do not know how important it is that we should speak on this subject. Will you answer another question, then? Do you believe that Frank loves you?”

She drew her head back with the merest touch of pride, and said, with a tinge of steel in her tone:

“Yes, I do believe he loves me, because he has proved it in a thousand ways; and I do not fear to answer your first question. I do love him with all my heart. There! that confession is unladylike, but I make it to you alone.”

I bowed in acknowledgment and continued:

“Pardon me again, Lulie dear, for pursuing my catechism. You were in the library last night?”

“Yes!”

“Do you know the character of those to whom Frank introduced you, and with whom he forced you to spend an hour?”

She made no reply, but I could feel her hand growing cold as the blood left it for her burning cheeks.

“Do you know the social and moral position of those men he has permitted to wait on you since your stay here? Do you know how he speaks of you to others? Dearest little friend, though you hate me for it, I must warn you. Frank does not love, does not even respect you. He only retains your love as a trophy of his power. As God knows my heart, I have no motive but to save you. Will you heed me, Lulie?”

She drew her hand quickly from mine, and, covering her face, remained silent a long while; then putting it back in mine, she said, with a sad earnestness I can never forget:

“I do not doubt the sincerity of your motives, John; but your words are wasted. Frank has loved me too long and too fondly for me to desert him now at your bidding. ‘Twas naughty of him, I know, to carry me into bad company, but he did it thoughtlessly, and I forgive him for it.”

“But, Lulie”—— I interposed.

“No; let’s not speak of it any further. You cannot know how strangely sad I feel. A great gloom has fallen on my heart, which, indeed, has been hanging over it since I came here; and oh—I do so want to lean on mother’s breast and cry. Dear John, I shall ever love you dearly for your kind interest in me,” and before I could prevent it she lifted my hand to her lips and kissed it; “but you are mistaken about Frank. I know that he loves me, and God knows that I love him, and will trust him even to death.”

We rose from our seats, but instead of returning to the ball room, she asked me to see her to the hotel, where I bade her good night and came back up the campus. As I passed by the seat we occupied, something white in the darkness caught my eye, and on picking it up I found that it was her glove, which she had dropped while we were talking. On taking it to the light I found that some one, in passing, had trodden upon it, and ground it into the damp earth, soiling it hopelessly.

“Heaven grant it may not be a type of her life!” I said fervently, as I laid it in my bosom.