"I shall certainly then insist, in the first place, that others be not
deprived of the pleasure of your company for my gratification. I should
be selfish, indeed, if I allowed you to do so."

"Notwithstanding, here I am, and here I intend to remain until I am
forced away," said Arthur, smiling as, seating himself comfortably
beside her on the sofa, he drew a portfolio from the centre table, which
contained some sketches taken during his recent tour, and, in pointing
out the different places and relating his adventures in each, Agnes
became so much interested as to forget her headache, and even the
anxiety which had weighed down her mind but a short time before.

There was one picture that seemed particularly to attract her attention.
It was the sketch of a small church, whose white walls peeped out from
the midst of thick foliage, and whose opened doors seemed to welcome the
worshippers that in every direction were seen apparently wending their
way towards it.

Agnes gazed at it long and earnestly. She laid it down and took it up
again, while Arthur, who could not imagine why she seemed to admire this
sketch in preference to others whose artistic merits were far superior,
gazed on her with some surprise.

"I see you are wondering, Mr. Bernard," she said, as she marked the
inquiring expression of his countenance, "why this scene should
particularly attract me. It is because it reminds me of the happiest
hours of my life, for, in a church, whose situation and appearance
exactly resembles this, I first learned where true bliss was to be
found."