"Well, what is it?" I asked at length, as her eyes rested on me with
the fulness of affection.

"Nothing. I wanted to see you standing down there once more. Haven't
you thought of it? This is the last time--the last of the window, the
last of the garden, the end of the past. Everything after this will be
so different. Aren't you a little sorry that you are going to marry
me?"

"Will you allow me to fetch the minister this instant?"

In the evening they put on her bridal dress and sent over for me, and,
drawing the parlor doors aside, blinded me with the sight of her
standing in there, as if waiting in duty for love to claim its own. As
I saw her then I have but to close my eyes to see her now. I scarce
know why, but that vision of her haunts my mind mysteriously.

I see a fresh snow-drift in a secret green valley between dark
mountains. The sun must travel far and be risen high to reach it; but
when it does, its rays pour down from near the zenith and are most
powerful and warm; then in a little while the whole valley is green
again and a white mist, rising from it, muffles the face of the sun.

Oh, Georgiana! Georgiana! Do not fade away from me as I draw you to
me.

My last solitary candle flickers in the socket: it is in truth the end
of the past.