It was a beautiful moonlight night. The bright May moon shed a shower of silvery glory over the cottage, and bathed them in its refulgent light.
"Oh, Louis, what is the matter?" said Celeste, laying her hand on his arm. "Are you so sorry for leaving home?"
"I don't care for that, Celeste; I am sorry to leave you."
"But it's only for a year. I will be here when you come back."
"Will you, Celeste?"
"Why, yes, Louis, of course I will."
"Oh, no, you won't, Celeste. There will be something here taller and more womanly, who will talk and act like a young lady, and whom I will call Miss Pearl; but the little, gentle Celeste will be here no longer."
"Well, won't it be the same with you?" said Celeste, with an arch smile. "Something will come back taller and more manly, who will talk and act like a young gentleman, and whom I must call Mr. Oranmore, I suppose. But the Louis who brings me pretty books, and calls me 'the Star of the Valley,' I will never see again."
"Oh, Celeste, you know better than that. Will you think of me sometimes when I am gone?"
"Oh, yes, always. What a strange question! Why, I never thought of asking you to think of me, though you are going among so many strangers, who will make you forget all your old friends."