I said:
"Go with us, Clara," as we sauntered along the yard path toward the
gate, but Louis looked at her and she turned gaily from us with the
words:
"I will look after the invalid."
It seemed to me I was made of stone that evening, and we walked long
before the silence was broken. At last Louis stopped, and taking both my
hands looked into my heart (it seemed so to me) and said:
"I leave to-morrow."
My eyes grew moist, but only a sigh escaped my lips. I did not even say
I was sorry.
Then we sat down on the mossy trunk of our favorite tree, and he said:
"Are you sorry, Emily? Will you miss me, and will you write to me, and
will your dark eyes read the words I send to you?"
Dumb, more dumb than before, I sighed and bowed my head, and again he
spoke, this time with that strange, terribly earnest look in his eyes I
had seen before.
"Oh, Emily! my dear Emily! I am only a boy in years, but I love you with
the strength of a man. I have saved the life of your brother because I
loved his sister; and," he added in a low tone, "I love him too, but not
as I do the dark eyes of his sister. Oh! Emily, do you love me? Can you
and will you love me, and me only?"
And he drew me to him almost fiercely, while I quivered in every nerve,
and answered:
"Louis, do you know me well? Can you not understand my heart? How can I
help loving you?"
He loosened his grasp about me, and as his arm fell from my waist, tears
fell at his feet.
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