What sensational story she had ever read could equal this? Was ever any thing so purely romantic or exalted? In that moment all the dreary days of her lonely life seemed blotted out by the exquisite realization of a new happiness that was stealing over her. But still, there was an inward struggle in her soul. Thoughts of her father's wrath thrust themselves between her and her gratification. She lifted up her hands in fear, and said in a hushed voice. "Bijou, I do indeed love you, but _this_ I dare not do, _this_ is too much. It is all so sudden, so soon." She recoiled a little as she spoke, and his face darkened ominously. "Then your words were false!" he said in a cold, cruel voice, "and since you have deceived me I will ask nothing more. I did not deserve this from you, but we part in time." He stood proudly up and prepared to leave. There was a struggle in the breast of his victim--that he could see. In another moment she was close beside him. "Do not go, Bijou," she said piteously, "after you have taught me to love you as I do, oh! do not leave Fifine. Tell me what you wish, my Bijou I am ready to do your will." There was an unpleasant smile of triumph stealing over his handsome mouth. He stretched forth his hand, and took her trembling one in his. "You must wear this golden band," he said, "as a token of my earnestness, this will bind us one to another Let me see it on your dainty hand." But she shrank again from his grasp. She was frightfully agitated. The low angry rumble of distant thunder was in her ears, the trees were swaying to and fro, and the leaves were turned upon their stems--the storm was drawing nearer! At last she spoke again. "You cannot mean, that I must become your wife in this strange way, Bijou," her voice was husky and trembling, "you have not the power." He smothered a curse, and his brow contracted. "Power? why have I not power as well as another? are the cold words of a ceremony more binding than the outpourings of a burning heart? Of what avail are cold formalities to souls that are blended already in devotion and love?" "Hush Bijou," she interposed, frightened at his vehemence, "such words are a profanation. A marriage ceremony could not increase our love, but it is indispensable all the same." He saw she was firm and that the concession must come from him. "I see you are a slave to public opinion and church authority," he said, "but this need not be an obstacle between us and our cherished plans. It is growing late now, but if we make good speed, we could reach the village before, dark, and secure the indispensable"--he laid a peculiar stress on the word, "though unnecessary services of the curate". "But my father--the hour," cried the distracted girl. "They of course are of more consequence than your love and your promise," he answered coldly, "decide Fifine, for I am impatient. Your home or your love, separation or your promise."