The confidence of her timid and loving heart was instantly restored—and she said smiling, yet with a tear struggling through her eyelid, “I believe I am I think I am beautiful. I know they call me the Fawn of Springvale, because I am gentle.”
“The angels are not so gentle, nor so pure, nor so innocent as you are, my un-wedded wife.”
“I am glad I am,” she replied; “and I am glad, too, that I am beautiful—but it is all on your account, and for your sake, dear Charles.”
The fascination—the power of such innocence, and purity, and love, utterly overcame him, and he wept in transport upon her bosom.
The approach of her sisters, however, and the liveliness of Agnes, soon changed the character of their dialogue. For an hour they ran and chased each other, and played about, after which Charles took his leave of them for the evening. Jane, as usual, being the last he parted from, whispered to him,as he went—
“Charles, promise me, that in future you won’t repeat—the—the words you used in, the summer-house.”
“What words, love?” “You remember—about—about—what you said you might swear—and that, in that case, you would cease to love me.”
“Why dearest, should I promise you this?” “Because,” she said, in a low, sweet whisper, “they disturb me when I think of them—a slight thing makes my heart sink.”
“You are a foolish, sweet girl—but I promise you, I shall never again use them.”
She bestowed on him a look and smile that were more than a sufficient compensation for this; and after again bidding him farewell, she tripped lightly into the house.