near
your heart!'

'Near thine; for thine it is, love! Sweet, you look so beautiful to-day!
It seems to me you never yet looked half so fair. Those eyes are so
brilliant, so very blue, so like the violet! There is nothing like your
eyes!'

'Except your own.'

'You have taken away your hand. Give me back my hand, my Henrietta. I
will not quit it. The whole day it shall be clasped in mine. Ah! what a
hand! so soft, so very soft! There is nothing like your hand.'

'Yours is as soft, dear Ferdinand.'

'O Henrietta! I do love you so! I wish that I could tell you how I love
you! As I rode home last night it seemed that I had not conveyed to you
a tithe, nay, a thousandth part of what I feel.'

'You cannot love me, Ferdinand, more than I love you.'

'Say so again! Tell me very often, tell me a thousand times, how much
you love me. Unless you tell me a thousand times, Henrietta, I never can
believe that I am so blessed.'

They went forth into the garden. Nature, with the splendid sky and the
sweet breeze, seemed to smile upon their passion. Henrietta plucked the
most beautiful flowers and placed them in his breast.

'Do you remember the rose at Armine?' said Ferdinand, with a fond smile.

'Ah! who would have believed that it would have led to this?' said
Henrietta, with downcast eyes.

'I am not more in love now than I was then,' said Ferdinand.

'I dare not speak of my feelings,' said Miss Temple. 'Is it possible
that it can be but five days back since we first met! It seems another
era.'

'I have no recollection of anything that occurred before I saw
you beneath the cedar,' replied Ferdinand: 'that is the date of my
existence. I saw you, and I loved. My love was at once complete; I have
no confidence in any other; I have no confidence in the love that is
the creature of observation, and reflection, and comparison, and
calculation. Love, in my opinion, should spring from innate sympathy; it
should be superior to all situations, all ties, all circumstances.'

'Such, then, we must believe is ours,' replied Henrietta, in a somewhat
grave and musing tone: 'I would willingly embrace your creed. I know not
why I should be ashamed of my feelings. They are natural, and they are
pure. And yet I tremble. But so long as you do not think lightly of me,
Ferdinand, for whom should I care?'

'My Henrietta! my angel! my adored and beautiful! I worship you, I
reverence you. Ah! my Henrietta, if you only knew how I dote upon