And as I rose the moonbeams fell on my tear-stained face, and he said as
if I were the merest child:

"Why do you fear I shall ever be different toward you; but you need not
feel bound even though you have said you will love me."

"Louis," I cried, "you are cruel; you trouble me; I can't tell how I
feel at all," and then realizing his last sentence I took off the ring,
but ere I could speak he put it back, saying:

"No, no, Emily. I will wait one year, and then if you are afraid I will
go away; but keep the ring, for that is yours, and yours alone."

I went up to my little room without bidding any one "good-night," and
thought those old three words right over, "Emily did it." I had covered
myself up because I dared not be known, and if, after all, it was right,
how good it would be to be loved by one capable of such wondrous love as
he possessed.

I dreamed all night that I was alone and ill, and in the morning I
dreaded to meet Louis, but he gave no sign of any troubled thought, and
when the stage came was ready with his bright "good-bye." He folded his
little mother to his heart and held her there for a few seconds. When he
came to me his hand's grasp was firm and strong. His kiss and whisper
came together, "I will write." A moment later and he had gone. Clara
went to her own room, to cry a little softly as she afterward said, and
so the time wore on till the evening found us again all around the
table, and old grey Timothy, our cat, had the boldness to sit in Louis'
chair, which made Clara laugh through her tears. Joy and sorrow go hand
in hand, and while we felt his loss so keenly, his letters were a great