"Oh, Newton!"
"You love me still?"
"Can you ask me while petting me thus? You have felt our separation since those few happy days at Calderwood?"
"As a living death, Louisa. Worse than anticipations of the greater separation that is to come."
"With all its dangers!" she said, with her eyes now full of tears.
"Yes; for whatever happens I shall feel assured——"
"That your poor Louisa loves you still—loves you dearly, Newton; and ere you go to-night you must give me a lock of your hair."
Her head on my shoulder; her pale brow against my cheek, her lips were close to mine.
"Till we are both in our graves, dear Newton, you can never, never know how much I love you, and the agony that Berkeley's cunning cost me."
These were blessed words to hear—blessed words to treasure in the distant land to which I was going; and in a silence more eloquent than words, I could but press her to my heart.