She had shrunk down--sunk is not the word to convey an idea of the

prostration of strength, the collapse of resolution, expressed by

the figure cowering in the deep chair, its face upborne and hidden

by the shaking hands. They were cold as ice, Frederic felt, when he

would have drawn them aside.

"We will have no foolish reserves, my child. Much, if not all, the

happiness of our future lives may depend upon our perfect sincerity

now. You do not require to be told how poor is the offering of my

heart. You are the only person who has ever entered into the secret

of its emptiness and desolation; seen blight, where there should be

bloom; ashes, where flame should glow. But such as it is, it is

yours, if you will have it. If you are willing to trust yourself

with me, I will cherish as I now honor you, truly and forever; leave

no means untried that can add to your happiness. Dare you make the

venture?"

Her unstudied caress was beautiful and pathetic in its lowliness of

humility and earnest affection--too earnest for the commonplace

outlet of words. It was to slip to her knees at his feet, and kiss

his hand, then lay her cheek upon it, as some dumb, devoted thing

might do.

Then she was lifted into his arms, and kissed with a fervor she

mistook for awakening passion, and her heart bounded more madly in

the belief that her victory was complete, that he would henceforward

be hers in feeling as in name.

Yet the words breathed into her ear as her head rested upon his

bosom might have taught her the fallacy of her conviction and her

hopes.

"My noble, faithful girl! What have I to offer you in payment for

all this?"

"I ask nothing, except the right to be with, and to serve you!"

responded Rosa.

And she thought she spoke the whole truth for once.




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