It grew dark, like night, and there came flash after flash, peal after peal. I could not stand--I leaned against his arm. At last there shone all around us a frightful glare, as if the whole wood were in flames--a crash of boughs--a roar above, as though the heavens were falling--then, silence. Death had passed close by us, and smote us not--and Death was the precursor of Love. We looked at one another, Laurence and I: then, with a great cry, our hearts--long-tortured--sprang together. There never can be such a meeting, save that of two parted ones, who meet in heaven. No words were spoken, save a murmur--"Adelaide!" "Laurence!"--but we knew that between us two there was but one soul. We stood there--all the while the storm lasted. He sheltered me in his arms, and I felt neither the thunder nor the rain. I feared not life nor death, for I now knew that in either I should never be divided from him. * * * Ours was a brief engagement. Laurence wished it so; and I disputed not--I never disputed with him in any thing. Besides, I was not happy at home--my sisters did not understand him. They jested with me because he was grave and reserved--even subject to moody fits sometimes. They said, "I should have a great deal to put up with; but it was worth while, for Mr. Shelmerdine's grand estate atoned for all." My Laurence! as if I had ever thought whether he were rich or poor! I smiled, too, at my sisters' jests about his melancholy, and the possibility of his being "a bandit in disguise." None truly knew him--none but I! Yet I was half afraid of him at times; but that was only from the intensity of my love. I never asked him of his for me--how it grew--or why he had so long concealed it; enough for me that it was there. Yet it was always calm: he never showed any passionate emotion, save one night--the night before our wedding day. I went with him to the gate myself, walking in the moonlight under the holly trees. I trembled a little; but I was happy--very happy. He held me long in his arms ere he would part with me--the last brief parting ere we would have no need to part any more. I said, looking up from his face unto the stars, "Laurence, in our full joy, let us thank God, and pray Him to bless us." His heart seemed bursting: he bowed his proud head, dropped it down upon my shoulder, and cried, "Nay, rather pray Him to _forgive_ me. Adelaide, I am not worthy of happiness--I am not worthy of you." He, to talk in this way! and about me! but I answered him soothingly, so that he might feel how dear was my love--how entire my trust. He said, at last, half mournfully, "You are content to take me then, just as I am; to forgive my past--to bear with my present--to give hope to my future. Will you do this, my love, my Adelaide?" I answered, solemnly, "I will." Then, for the first time, I dared to lift my arms to his neck; and as he stooped I kissed his forehead. It was the seal of this my promise--which may God give me strength to keep evermore!