“She would think you had left your senses on the other side,” replied Margaret, laughing. “But I decline to accept the parallel. I have not given up my heart to your keeping these many years to be only a sister to you at last.” “But my mother! Is it possible for me to love you more than my mother loved me? And yet I never heard her speak one word on the subject, and, now that I think of it, I am not sure but words would have cheapened her affection in my mind. You do not doubt me, Margaret?” “No more than you doubted your mother, although she never told her love. No, it is not so serious as that; but I wish you were more demonstrative, Walter.” “What, in words? Isn’t there something that speaks louder than words?” “Yes, but let us hear the words, too. There is a beautiful proverb in India which says, ‘Words are the daughters of earth and deeds are the sons of heaven.’ That is true, but let us not try to pass through life without enjoying the company of some of the ‘daughters of earth.’” “I will confess this much, Margaret, that your words are one of your principal charms.” “Oh, do you really think so? I consider that a great compliment from you, for I have often tried to repress myself, fearing that my impulsive and sometimes passionate speech would offend your taste, you who are outwardly so cold. Do you know, I have a whole vocabulary of endearing terms ready to be poured into your ears as soon as you begin to give me encouragement?” “Then teach me how to encourage you, and I will certainly begin at once. Shall we seek some retired spot, where we can be free from observation, and then shall I seize your hand, fall on my knees, and, in vehement and extravagant words, declare a passion which you already know I have, just as well as you know I am breathing at this moment?” “Good!” cried Margaret. “That’s almost as fine as the real scene. So you have a passion for me. I really think you are improving.” Before going on with this conversation, let me tell you a little more about Margaret and my relations to her. There was good cause for her complaint. I was at that time a sort of animated icicle, as far as my emotional nature was concerned. But although I could not express my feelings to Margaret in set phrase, I do not mind saying to you that I loved her dearly, or thought I did, which was the same thing for the time being. I loved her as well as I was capable of loving anybody. What I lacked Margaret more than made up, for she was the warmest-hearted creature in all the world. If I should begin to enumerate her perfections of person and character I should never care to stop.