ntinued, "I will not act a part with you, dear girl, or
appear other than what I am, weak and unworthy, more fit to excite your
disdain than your love. Yet you do love me; I feel and know that you do,
and thence I draw my most cherished hopes. If pride guided you, or even
reason, you might well reject me. Do so; if your high heart, incapable of
my infirmity of purpose, refuses to bend to the lowness of mine. Turn from
me, if you will,--if you can. If your whole soul does not urge you to
forgive me--if your entire heart does not open wide its door to admit me
to its very centre, forsake me, never speak to me again. I, though sinning
against you almost beyond remission, I also am proud; there must be no
reserve in your pardon--no drawback to the gift of your affection."

Perdita looked down, confused, yet pleased. My presence embarrassed her; so
that she dared not turn to meet her lover's eye, or trust her voice to
assure him of her affection; while a blush mantled her cheek, and her
disconsolate air was exchanged for one expressive of deep-felt joy. Raymond
encircled her waist with his arm, and continued, "I do not deny that I have
balanced between you and the highest hope that mortal men can entertain;
but I do so no longer. Take me--mould me to your will, possess my heart
and soul to all eternity. If you refuse to contribute to my happiness, I
quit England to-night, and will never set foot in it again.

"Lionel, you hear: witness for me: persuade your sister to forgive the
injury I have done her; persuade her to be mine."

"There needs no persuasion," said the blushing Perdita, "except your own
dear promises, and my ready heart, which whispers to me that they are
true."

That same evening we all three walked together in the forest, and, with the
garrulity which happiness inspires, they detailed to me the history of
their loves. It was pleasant to see the haughty Raymond and reserved
Perdita changed through happy love into prattling, playful children, both
losing their characteristic dignity in the fulness of mutual contentment. A
night or two ago Lord Raymond, with a brow of care, and a heart oppressed
with thought, bent all his energies to silence or persuade the legislators
of England that a sceptre was not too weighty for his hand, while visions
of dominion, war, and triumph floated before him; now, frolicsome as a
lively boy sporting under his mother's approving eye, the hopes of his
ambition were complete, when