I raised her to her feet; and allowed her head to rest upon my shoulder.
“Miss H—,” said I, “can it be that you show so much emotion, merely at parting with a friend?”
“Ah!” she replied, “I have thought of you as a friend; but such a one as I never knew before. My life has been lonely. We are here, as you know, shut out from all intercourse with the world. We can form but few friendships. Yours has been to me like some unknown joy of life. You have been my only thought, since I first saw you.”
“You must try to forget me—to forget that we have ever met; and I will try to forget you. I should only think of you as a friend!”
For a second she stood gazing upon me in silence. Then tremblingly put the question:
“You love another?”
“I do, although I love without hope. It is one who can never be mine—one I may, perhaps, never see again. She and I were playmates when young. I fancied she loved me; but she did not: she has married another.”
“How very strange! To me it seems impossible!”
The artless innocence of these observations, proved the purity of the mind from which they could emanate.
“And yet,” continued she, “for one who has acted in that manner, you can still feel love?”