ternal
counsels and cares; "will they not share our bridal home?"

"I would have the early days of our married life sacred even from their
participation," he answered, with that eloquence of the eye which no
woman's heart could resist. "I would have my wife learn to rely on me
alone for happiness;--to find in my boundless devotion, my unutterable
love, an equivalent for all she is called upon to resign. If she cannot
consent to this, no spark from heaven has kindled the flame of the
altar; the sacrifice is cold, and unworthy of acceptance."

"For myself, I ask nothing, wish for nothing but your companionship," I
answered, with the fervor of truth and youth, "but I was thinking of
them, whom I shall rob of a son and brother so inexpressibly dear."

"We shall meet next summer in these lovely shades. We shall all be happy
together once more. In the mean time, all the elegancies and luxuries
that love can imagine and wealth supply shall be yours,--

"Nay, dearest, nay, if thou wouldst have me paint
The home to which, if love fulfils its prayers,
This hand would lead thee, listen,"--

And taking me by the hand, he led me out into the beautiful avenue in
which we had so often wandered, and continued, in the words of that
charming play which he had read aloud in the early days of our
acquaintance, with a thrilling expression which none but himself could
give--

"We'll have no friends
That are not lovers; no ambition, save
To excel them all in love; we'll read no books
That are not tales of love; that we may smile
To think how poorly eloquence of words
Translates the poetry of hearts like ours!
And when night comes, amidst the breathless heavens,
We'll guess what star shall be our home when love
Becomes immortal; while the perfumed light
Steals through the mists of alabaster lamps,
And every air be heavy with the sighs
Of orange groves, and music from sweet lutes,
And murmurs of low fountains, that gush forth
I' the midst of roses!"

"Dost thou like the picture?"

How could I help answering, in the words of the impassioned Pauline,--

"Was ever young imaginative girl wooed in strains of sweeter romance?"

Was there ever a fairer prospect of felicity, if love, pure, intense
love, constitutes the happiness of wedded life?

I will not swell these pages by describing the village wonder and
gossip, when it was known that the orphan girl of t