"Do not work so hard, Henry."
He looked me full in the face. Why did my eye droop beneath that warm, inquiring gaze; and why did he ask so low, in a half whisper:
"Should I die who will grieve for me?"
And did not my uplifted glance tell him who would? We understood each other. Our hearts had spoken, and what followed may easily be guessed. Evening after evening we met upon that balcony to pledge our souls in earnest vows. Henry's eye grew brighter; he worked the harder; but his pile of money did not increase as it had done. Many a little present to me, many a rare nosegay, that was purchased at a price he was not able to afford, put off to a greater distance his day of freedom. Like a green, luxuriant spot in the wide desert of a lonely life, seems to me the memory of those hours. On Sunday evenings, when his labor was over, which was generally about eight o'clock, we walked through the city, and on moonlight nights we strayed upon the banks of the Ohio, and planned for the future.
Henry was to buy himself, then go North, and labor in some hotel, or at whatever business he could make the most money; then he would return to buy me. This was one of our plans; but as often as we talked, we made a new one.
"Oh, we shall be so happy, Ann," he would exclaim.
Then I would repeat the often-asked question, "Where shall we live?"
Sometimes we decided upon New York city; then a village in the State of New York; but I think Henry's preference was a Canadian town. Idle speculators that we were, we seldom adhered long to our preference for any one spot!
"At least, dear," he used to say, in his encouraging way, "we will hunt a home; and, no matter where we find it, we can make it a happy one if we are together."
And to this my heart gave a warm echo. I was beginning to be happy; for imagination painted joys in the future, and the present was not all mournful, for Henry was with me! The same roof covered us. Twenty times a-day I met him in the dining-room, hall, or in the lobby, and he was always with me in the evening.