“Doctor,” she said, “beyond the seas I have a family, father, sisters and friends, whom I long loved till the day when I loved William; but then I closed my heart against those who spurned my friend. William’s father forbade him to love me, because he was too noble for the daughter of an American planter; my father forbade me to love William, for he was too proud to give his daughter to a man whose family would not have welcomed her with love. They would have separated us—but we loved! For a long time we implored, wept, asked forgiveness of those to whom we owed obedience, but they were inflexible—and we loved each other! Doctor, have you ever loved? I hope so, that you may be indulgent to us. We were privately married and fled toward France. Oh! how beautiful the sea appeared to me the first days of our love! It was hospitable for the two fugitives. Wandering in the midst of the waves, we passed happy hours seated in the shade of the large sails of the vessel, dreaming of the pardon of our parents, and seeing nothing but joy in the future. Alas! it did not come to pass thus: they wished to pursue us, and by the aid of some irregularity of form in our clandestine marriage, William’s ambitious family harbored the cruel idea of separating us. We have taken refuge in these mountains and woods, under an assumed name, and live unknown. My father did not pardon me, no, he cursed me! this is the reason, doctor, why I cannot always be gay even with William by my side.” Good God! how they loved. Never have I known a soul given to another, like that of Eva Meredith to her husband. Whatever employment she chose, she always placed herself where she might see William on raising her eyes. She read no book but that he read: with her head reclining on her husband’s shoulder, her eyes would follow the same lines that his traced; she even wished they both might have the same thoughts at the same time; and when I crossed the garden to reach the house, I could not sometimes refrain from smiling at seeing on the sand the traces of Eva’s little feet beside the foot prints of William. What a difference, ladies, between that solitary old house you see before you, and the pretty dwelling of my young friends—how flowers covered the walls and bouquets rested on all the tables, how many pleasant books of love tales resembled their love, and blithe birds sung around them. Oh! it was something to live and be beloved by those who loved so well. But mark how much reason we have in saying that our happy days are not long on this earth, and that God, who creates happiness, bestows but little here. One morning Eva Meredith seemed to be in pain. I questioned her with all the interest I felt for her, but she said hastily—