impressing her slowly, drawing her nearer to me day by
day; mark the electric thrill which made the slender fingers tremulous
when my hand lay near her own, an expressive and eloquent gesture, as
if, all unconsciously, her hand was stretching forth in the sweet
endeavor to clasp mine. The averted eyes, the beautiful color that
flushed her cheeks, and, best and dearest sight of all, the perplexed,
mystified, dimly conscious expression in the far-off distant gaze, as if
the soul was vainly struggling to grasp and clearly comprehend a great
truth but vaguely felt. I could see all this as I sat by her side,
permitting the love I had not words to speak to betray me in every look,
tone, and gesture. But even while I watched her thus, serenely awaiting
the time when a full consciousness should pervade her spirit as it was
pervading mine--now when the sun of my happiness was slowly approaching
its zenith, there appeared above the horizon the little cloud doomed to
overspread and darken the calm heaven of my joy. We were no longer
entirely alone: a third person was added to the sweet enchanted number
that first walked the groves of Eden, and the complete spirituality of
our communion was gone! Other eyes gazed on what we gazed; other eyes
looked into the blue depths of hers, and sought with mine their smiling
approval, and the brightest charm of our intercourse had departed
forever. The last time in which it still remained unbroken--the last
sweet time that I could call her wholly mine, was on a placid autumn
evening. We had strolled farther than usual, tempted by the tranquil
beauty around us, and during that walk I had been strangely, wonderfully
happy. Many times, as we walked silently side by side, a strong, an
almost irresistible impulse seemed to force me to utter those three
passionate words that have caused a flutter in the heart-beat of so many
thousands since the world began; and as many times the reverence I felt
for her, and the diffidence arising from it, held me back, and the words
remained unspoken. Yet this contest of feeling had led me to venture
more upon outward expression: I had held her hand in mine, and twice or
thrice had pressed it mutely and reverently to my lips; and she, seeing
nothing of the ardor of a lover in this (the very excess of my emotion
had made me outwardly calm), had allowed me to retain it, bestowed upon
me her sunniest smile, calling me the while friend and brother. It was
not the terms my