I had visited it on a bright day; the sun was shining, the birds were singing in the trees; and when I visited it, and as I wandered through the grounds, I was thinking of Lauretta. But when, indeed, was I not thinking of her? She was my sun, my light, my life. All aspects of nature were rendered beautiful by thought of her; she was to me the essence of joy; through her, and through her only, my heart was a garden. Through her I discovered beauties even in nature's sad moods; her spiritual presence was never absent from me. She moved by my side when I strolled unaccompanied through the quaint little thoroughfares of the village and the sweet and solemn woods in the valleys of which it lay; alone in my chamber she was ever with me; she was not only life of my life, she was my religion--I who had had no religion, and to whom the sacred peace of church or chapel had never come. My father had never taken me by the hand and led me to a place of worship; I had read the Bible, not as a religious study, but for the most part as a collection of amusing, improbable romances. There was certainly one character in it which had deeply impressed me--the character of Isaiah, for whose wild prophetic life I entertained a profound admiration. Otherwise, the book simply entertained me. It was different now. Not that I read the Bible in a newer light, or indeed that I read it at all, but that, through Lauretta, I became amenable to certain influences of a religious nature. I sat with her in the pretty chapel of the village in which Father Daniel officiated, and the hushed air within the building, and the voices of the choir of children, and the tender, sacred music, had upon me a purifying influence. The music was Lauretta's; the angel voices were Lauretta's; the tender peace was Lauretta's; the priest's consoling, compassionate admonitions were Lauretta's. What mystic thoughts of a higher future state these matters brought dimly to my mind were inspired by Lauretta. It was she for whose sweet sake I gave Father Daniel money for his poor. Through her I saw "good in everything;" through her I inhaled it. The money I gave to Father Daniel was given privately, but I did not think of laying an injunction of secrecy upon him, and it became known. I was guiltless of any wish to earn praise for my actions in that or in any other respect, but a reward most disproportionate, but most sweet, was bestowed upon me by words and looks from Lauretta and her mother. "It is good of you," said Lauretta's mother. "You almost make me ashamed," I said. "Why?" asked Lauretta's mother. "It gladdens us. I am learning not only to know you but to love you." Precious were those words from her lips; but afterwards, when I offered my contributions to Father Daniel I asked him not to speak of them. I think he respected my wish, but nevertheless I gained a reputation for charity in Nerac which did me no harm. To return to the conversation respecting the house I desired to take.