s banished, bliss made perfect;
dearest, 'tis but for this!" answered the young enthusiast, and the rich
yet somewhat mournful tones of his voice thrilled to his listener's
heart.

"Thou speakest as if thou, too, hadst experienced forebodings like to
these, my Nigel," said Agnes, thoughtfully. "I deemed them but the
foolishness of my weaker mind."

"Deem them not foolishness, beloved. There are minds, indeed, that know
them not, but they are of that rude, coarse material which owns no
thought, hath no hopes but those of earth and earthly things, insensible
to that profundity of joy which makes us _feel_ its _chain_: 'tis not to
the lightly feeling such forebodings come."

"But thou--hast thou felt them, Nigel, dearest? hast thou listened to,
_believed_ their voice?

"I have felt, I feel when I gaze on thee, sweet one, a joy so deep, so
full, that I scarce dare trace it to an earthly cause," he said,
slightly evading a direct answer. "I cannot look forward and, as it
were, extend that deep joy to the future; but the fetter binding it to
pain reminds me I am mortal, that not an earth may I demand find seek
and hope to find its fulfilment."

She looked up in his face, with an expression both of bewilderment and
fear, and her hand unconsciously closed on his arm, as thus to detain
him to her side.

"Yes, my beloved," he added, with more animation, "it is not because I
put not my trust in earth for unfading joy that we shall find not its
sweet flowers below; that our paths on earth may be darkened, because
the fulness of bliss is alone to be found in heaven. Mine own sweet
Agnes, while darkness and strife, and blood and death, are thus at work
around us, is it marvel we should sometimes dream of sorrow? Yet, oh
yet, have we not both the same hope, the same God, the same home in
heaven; and if our doom be to part on earth, shall we not, oh, shall we
not meet in bliss? I say not such things will be, my best beloved; but
better look thus upon the dim shadow sometimes resting on the rosy wings
of joy, than ever dismiss it as the vain folly of a weakened mind."

He pressed his lips, which quivered, on the fair, beautiful brow then
resting in irresistible sorrow on his bosom; but he did not attempt by
words to check that maiden's sudden burst of tears. After a while, when
he found his own emotion sufficiently restrained, soothingly and fondly
he cheered her to composure, and drew from her the thoughts which had
disturbed