"Dear, dear Helen," said I, seating myself beside her, "thank you for the promise that you would not avoid me, and thank you for its fulfilment; and thank you for that look, and thank you for that smile. Oh, Helen! you know not how like a monarch you are, in having the power, by a word, or a glance, or a tone, to confer happiness, and to raise from misery and doubt, to hope, and life, and delight."
"Indeed, Louis," answered she, in a very different manner from that which I had ever seen in her before--"if I do possess such power, I am not sorry that it is so; for I am sure that while it remains with me to make you happy, you shall never be otherwise.--You think it very strange," she added, with a smile, "to hear me talk as I do now; and I would never, never have done so had not circumstances changed. But they have changed, Louis; and as I now see some hope of----" she paused a moment, as if seeking means to express herself, and I saw a bright, ingenuous blush spread over her whole countenance. "Why should I hesitate to say it?" she added, "as I see some hope now of becoming your wife, without entering into a family unwilling to receive me, I know not why I should not tell you also this that has made me so happy."
"A thousand and a thousand thanks, dearest Helen," answered I; "but tell me on what circumstance you, who once doubted my parents' consent so much more than I ever did, now found expectations so joyful--let me say, for us both."
"You must not ask me, Louis," answered Helen; "the only reason that could at all have influenced me to withhold from you what I hoped--what I was sure would make you happy--was, that I felt myself bound to be silent on more than one subject. You cannot fancy how I dislike anything that seems to imply mystery and want of confidence between two people that love one another; and, indeed, it is the greatest happiness I anticipate in being yours, that then I shall have neither thought, nor feeling, nor action, that you may not know--but in the present case you must spare me. Do not ask me, Louis, if you love me."
Of course, however much my curiosity might be excited, I put no farther question, merely asking, as calmly as I could, fearful lest I should instil some new doubts in Helen's mind, if she was sure, very sure, that the joyful news she gave me was perfectly certain; for I owned that it took such a burden from my heart, I could scarce believe my own hopes.
"All I can say, Louis," answered she, "is, that I feel sure neither your father nor your mother will object to our union, when the time arrives to think that it may take place--of course we are yet far too young."
"Too young!" said I; "why too young, dear Helen?"
"Oh, for many reasons," she answered, smiling. "You have yet to mingle with the world; at least, so I have heard people, who know the world, say that it is necessary for a young man to do before he dreams of marriage. You have to see all the fair, and the young, and the gay, which that world contains, before you can rightly judge whether your poor Helen may still possess your heart."
"And do you doubt me?" demanded I. "Helen, you have promised me never to give your hand to another; and, without one doubt, or one hesitation, do I promise the same to you--by yourself--by my hopes of happiness in this world or the next--by all that I hold sacred----"
"Hush, hush, dear Louis!" replied she; "do not swear so deeply. There are many, many temptations, I have heard, in the great world, which are difficult for a young man to resist. Louis, have you not found it so already?"