"'Are you not well, Engelbert?'" she said, in a gentle tone, "'for your hand trembles;'" and she took hold of my hand with both of hers, and looked round inquiringly into my averted face.
"'Yes, Thora,'" I replied; "'I am ill at heart, and I can find relief nowhere else but when I am near to you. I have endeavoured for the many months since I have known you, to hide my grief, or forget my pain; but the more I have exerted myself to do so, the keener felt my sorrow, and deeper still I probed the wound.'
"'Alas! and why should grief, or pain be yours, Engelbert, when virtue has been attendant on you always.'"
"'Sit down here, on this stone, and listen for a little while to me, dear Thora.'"
"I led her to a large stone by the roadside, which is there to this hour, and we both sat down together. The day, sir, was bright as this; and the corn waved, as it does now, to each breath of wind, and over our heads, among the trees, the birds were warbling. Ah! even now, at this distance of time—in my old age—the tear comes to my eye, and my heart heaves and swells to the memory of that happy, happy day.
"'Hitherto, to me, dear Thora,' I said, "'life has brought no changes of excessive pain, or pleasure; for at an early period I lost both my parents, and, being then but young, I never knew the sweet joys of home. Forced to struggle with men for independence, and, tossed about whichever way the waves of fortune pleased, my heart soon became indifferent to every gentle feeling; and, in my isolation, I never thought to seek for sympathy, but desired, by my industry, to live in competency, and, at the last, to leave the world as I had been sent into it, alone.'"
"The tears began to flow down Thora's face, and, nestling closer to me, she placed her hand on my arm, and murmured,
"'Dear Engelbert!'"
"'One evening, my own Thora, relieved from daily toil, I was sitting, as now, under that beech-tree, enjoying the cool evening air, heeding and listening to the sweet sights and sounds of life, and musing with softened spirit on all that had occurred to me since my dear parents' deaths, when I heard the gentle footstep of some one behind me. I turned, and, by the light of the full moon, saw a female figure approaching the spot where I was. With beating pulse I kept my eyes fixed on the form; but I soon gazed with delight on what my fluttering heart then almost bade me shun, and now droops with desire to take as its own. It was you.'"
"She replied not; and her head gradually turned from me. I raised the hand I still held, and, in a moment of passionate feeling, pressed it to my lips, and kissed it ardently. She immediately withdrew her hand, but seemed not altogether offended; for a smile—but oh! how sad and prophetic of what was to occur—passed over her beautiful face.