"Why, what of that?" she asked.
"O, nothing, I suppose; but I can't endure to think you can sit down, cold and calm, when I'm away, and indite your thoughts on paper. I can neither read, write, nor think, without you, Annie."
She blushed at these words.
"Come," he continued, drawing her close to his side; "I need not tell you I love you, Annie, for that you know already; but you can render me very happy, by speaking one little word in answer to a question I want to ask."
Still blushing and turning away her eyes, and he gazing so eloquently upon her downcast features.
"Will you speak it, Annie?"
"Let me hear the question," she said.
He inclined his head and whispered in her ear. She placed her hand in his, and he looked most happily answered as he wound his arm round her waist and pressed the little hand close to his heart.
There was a band of wandering musicians playing in the street, and he led her to the casement. She leaned lightly against his shoulder, and thus they stood there listening to the music. It was rough enough, and could hardly have pleased at any other time; but it sounded like the symphonies of angels to them now. O, what divine strains! But the melody was all in their own hearts. The screeching wheels of a dirt cart would have failed to strike a dissonance upon their ears; for all nature rolled on in linked harmony to them; they fancied they were very near heaven, and so they were; they thought they could not be much happier if they were really there, and it is doubtful if they could.
Thus wrapped in their new-found happiness, let us leave with prophetic good-night.