pure but passionate love.

They ordinarily sat in the evening in the same places round a small
table--Charlotte on the sofa, Ottilie on a chair opposite to her, and
the gentlemen on each side. Ottilie's place was on Edward's right, the
side where he put the candle when he was reading--at such times she
would draw her chair a little nearer to look over him, for Ottilie also
trusted her own eyes better than another person's lips, and Edward would
then always make a move toward her, that it might be as easy as possible
for her--indeed he would frequently make longer stops than necessary,
that he might not turn over before she had got to the bottom of the
page.

Charlotte and the Captain observed this, and exchanged many a quiet
smile at it; but they were both taken by surprise at another symptom, in
which Ottilie's latent feeling accidentally displayed itself.

One evening, which had been partly spoilt for them by a tedious visit,
Edward proposed that they should not separate so early--he felt inclined
for music--he would take his flute, which he had not done for many days
past. Charlotte looked for the sonatas which they generally played
together, and they were not to be found. Ottilie, with some hesitation,
said that they were in her room--she had taken them there to copy them.

"And you can, you will, accompany me on the piano?" cried Edward, his
eyes sparkling with pleasure. "I think perhaps I can," Ottilie answered.
She brought the music and sat down to the instrument. The others
listened, and were sufficiently surprised to hear how perfectly Ottilie
had taught herself the piece--but far more surprised were they at the
way in which she contrived to adapt herself to Edward's style of