king her hand in both
mine, "do not reproach yourself for a sensibility so natural, so
innocent, nay more, so noble. Do not, from mistaken delicacy, sacrifice
your own happiness, and that of another which is, I firmly believe,
forever intertwined with it. Confide in your mother,--confide in your
brother, who think you have made a solemn resolution to live a single
life. They do not know this young man; but give them an opportunity of
knowing him. Cast him not off, if you love him; for I would almost stake
my life upon his integrity and honor."

"Blessings, Gabriella, for this generous confidence!" she exclaimed,
throwing her arms round me, with all the impulsiveness of childhood;
"but it is all in vain. Do you think I would take advantage of Julian's
uncalculating love, and entail upon him for life the support and
guardianship of this frail, helpless form? Do you think I would hang a
dead, dull weight on the wings of his young ambition? Oh, no! You do not
know me, Gabriella."

"I know you have very wrong views of yourself," I answered; "and I fear
you will do great wrong to others, if you do not change them. You are
not helpless. No bird of the wild-wood wings their way more fearlessly
and lightly than yourself. You are not frail now. Health glows on your
cheek and beams in your eye. You cling to a resolution conceived in
early youth, before you recovered from the effects of a painful malady.
A dull weight! Why, Edith, you would rest like down on his mounting
wings. You would give them a more heavenly flight. Do not, beloved
Edith, indulge these morbid feelings. There is a love, stronger, deeper
than a sister's affection. You feel it now. You forgive me for loving
Ernest. You forgive him for loving me. I believe Julian worthy of your
heart. Give him hope, give him time, and he will come erelong, crowned
with laurels, and lay them smiling at your feet."

"Dear, inspiring Gabriella!" she exclaimed, "you infuse new life and joy
into my inmost soul. I feel as if I could discard these crutches and
walk on air. No; I am not helpless. If there was need, I could toil for
him I loved with all a woman's zeal. These hands could minister to his
necessities, this heart be a shield and buckler in the hour of danger.
Thank Heaven, I am lifted above want, and how blest to share the gifts
of fortune with one they would so nobly grace! But do you really think
that I ought to indulge such dreams? Am not I a cripple? Has not God set
a m