silence down her cheeks proved too clearly how dear his happiness must
ever be to her.

Osborne's arm glided round her waist, and she resumed her seat,--or
rather tottered into it.

"You are in tears," he exclaimed. "Oh could it be true! Is it not, my
beloved girl? It is--it is--love! Oh surely, surely it must--it must!"

She sobbed aloud once or twice; and, as he kissed her unresisting lips,
she murmured out, "It is; it is; I love you."

Oh life! how dark and unfathomable are thy mysteries! And why is it that
thou permittest the course of true love, like this, so seldom to run
smooth, when so many who, uniting through the impulse of sordid passion,
sink into a state of obtuse indifference, over which the lights and
shadows that touch thee into thy finest perceptions of enjoyment pass in
vain.

It is a singular fact, but no less true than singular, that since the
world began there never was known any instance of an anxiety, on the
part of youthful lovers, to prolong to an immoderate extent the scene
in which the first mutual avowal of their passions takes place. The
excitement is too profound, and the waste of those delicate spirits,
which are expended in such interviews, is much too great to permit the
soul to bear such an excess of happiness long. Independently of this,
there is associated with it an ultimate enjoyment, for which the lovers
immediately fly to solitude; there, in the certainty of waking bliss, to
think over and over again of all that has occurred between them, and to
luxuriate in the conviction, that at length the heart has not another