Louise did not answer--she could not answer--for some time; for the tears were rolling over her cheeks, the tears of strong emotion; but her hand was clasped in mine, her head leaned upon my shoulder. The cheek burned, the eyes were bent down, and the lip quivered; but there was not a sign of all the many which her demeanour gave that could teach me anything but hope; and yet I was impatient to hear more. I repeated my question in a different form; I kissed her cheek again and again; I urged her to speak. It was long ere she did so, however; till at length, looking up at me, she said, almost reproachfully, "Oh, Henry, Henry, you know, you feel, you are aware, well, well aware, that I love you as deeply, truly, fully, as any woman can love man; that, had I my will, I would never part with you, I would never leave you. What can I say more?"
"Nothing, dearest, nothing," I replied; "you have said enough; you have made me happy, most happy; happier than I almost ever fancied I should be. And yet much remains, dear Louise, before we can be fully happy together. I have to use every energy and every exertion to place myself in such a situation that I may rightly and wisely ask your hand. You, Louise, may have fully as much to do on your part. Ere you can be mine, they will press you to give your hand to others; they will command you, they will urge you--"
"Never, never!" cried Louise, eagerly; "I will never hear them, I will never listen to them for a moment; from this instant, Henry, I am yours; and I promise--"
"Nay, nay, dear Louise," I said, "let me not bind you by any promise; that I have, as yet, no right to do."
"You bind me by no promise, Henry," she said, "but I bind myself. I will never listen to such a thing even for a moment, so let not that trouble your repose at any time. Believe nothing that you hear of the kind; doubt not, fear not, dear Henry. I am yours, and none but yours; when first you began to speak just now, and said you might perhaps find me the bride of another, though I had not thought of all this as I now have, yet I felt that it could never be so, and that never, never would you find me the wife of any one."
We spoke longer upon the same theme, we dwelt upon our thoughts and feelings; agitation, and emotion, and timidity in some degree passed from Louise's mind, and gradually she let me see more and more deeply into the recesses of her heart, and made me at each instant happier by showing that I was beloved as fully and deeply as I could wish. We lingered for a considerable time under those fir-trees; and then again we walked down the hill to the hamlet, but turned before we reached the camp, and walked some way farther round, and lingered still and turned again, and more than once hesitated, and paused, and spoke a few fond words more before we went back to that world between which and ourselves there was now drawn a thin and filmy screen, perceptible to none but ourselves, but yet sufficient to be a perfect separation. It seemed as if love was now at home in our mutual bosoms, and the casements of the heart were closed.
Good La Tour was for the time our only confidant, if I may so call it; for in the evening he questioned me closely as soon as he found an opportunity, and I told him at once that I had spoken with Louise upon the subject of my love, and that with joy unutterable I had found it was returned. I farther added, that I had bound her by no promise; that she was free from all but such engagements as her own heart imposed upon her; but that now to obtain her was the end and object of my existence, and that to him I trusted at least to throw some impediment in the way of her union with one where misery was the only fortune that she could expect.
He said, in reply, that he could scarcely blame me for what I had done; he could scarcely approve either, he added, for there were so many contending considerations that he saw not what was the most fit plan to be adopted. In short, it was evident to me that the good man's sense of what was right towards Louise and towards myself were struggling against ideas preconceived of what was right to the baron as a father. He saw evidently to what the baron's own conduct had led; to what consequences, fatal to his own peace and to the happiness of his family; and he evidently doubted my cousin's power and his inclination to conduct his child to happiness and to peace, though he dared not deny his right to direct her.
The conversation was luckily soon terminated by the entrance of other persons, and the two days that followed passed without any material conversation between La Tour and myself on the subject that was uppermost in both our thoughts. With Louise those days passed in joy, mingled with that kind of gentle sadness which the knowledge that our hours of happiness were destined to be few, was well calculated to produce. Each of us felt drawn more and more closely towards the other as the moments became few that we were to be together; the knowledge that we must soon part but increased the desire to remain, and gave at once delight and anxiety to our short communion.
At length, however, the messenger arrived with the safe conduct; there was no farther delay to be gained; the period of Louise's departure for the camp of the Duke of Anjou was fixed for the following morning early, and but a few hours remained ere we were to be parted for an indefinite length of time. There wanted but such a state and such a prospect to bring forth all Louise's deep and fervid feelings. Her affection, her love, were no longer concealed, were no longer veiled under any show of reserve. She wept at the thought of parting from me long and sadly; she felt it more difficult to bear than she had anticipated; and the only thing that seemed to comfort her was a promise that, by writing sometimes to her, and frequently to La Tour, I would give her continual tidings of my proceedings and of my well-being. We passed a long evening, which, as our days of pleasure had been mingled with pain, now gave us hours of pain not unmingled with pleasure.