"Does this daunt you already?" he asked, smiling. "If you love me, I fear nothing; this assurance is all I ask. Think well, dear girl, before you reply; for I do not seek a mere confession of your heart's prompting affections _now_. I ask you to ponder well, and say whether you are sure, Minnie, that above every man you ever may see, you can love me? whether, for my sake, you are willing, under all circumstances, to share my fate?" "I have asked myself this, Miles," she said seriously, "before to-night; I need not pause to weigh my own affections; I never shall love any man as I love you." "Minnie," he whispered, for he trembled with emotion as he drew her gently towards his supporting arm, "do not mistake your feelings, it would be destruction to me; for my every thought is united to you. Do not wreck them, as so many others have been wrecked in my sad fate. I am wrong," he added, more joyously. "If you love me truly, when our lives shall be one, O then, in that happiness I shall become another man, and doubly energetic in my appointed task, for your dear sake, to raise you where you should and shall be!" "I don't know how it is, Miles," she said seriously, for it seemed as if the child had all departed, leaving a grave, thoughtful woman; "but I never thought of love, as they say most young girls do; it was rather distasteful to me, I heard so much about marriage until we met; and now, my love for you has so much of reverence with it, I _know_ I never could feel for another as I do for you." "Darling," he whispered, smiling, "I don't half like that word 'reverence'--you must not feel too much of that, or I shall dread the disparity of our years as engendering fear, more than love: love, dear child, should be all-confiding, all-fearless, childish, and innocent." "I do not fear you, Miles, believe me; but I love. I look upon you with so many combined feelings, as brother, father--_all_ those affections which I have never known, they seem to gather round you: how, then, can I do otherwise than reverence you?" He was silent some moments; then, removing the arm which had clasped her waist, he took her hand in both of his, and said seriously--"My ideas, dearest, of what a wife should be, are perhaps more rigid than those of the many, and how that wife should be won. There was a time, long ago, I might perhaps, in the impetuosity of youth and prosperity, have urged you to fly with me. _Now_, I would not do so; for, Minnie, though love _at first_ may excuse all, there might come a time when the husband would reflect. I am a very jealous man; do not let this alarm you. You never would arouse it by act of yours, I feel assured; still, we are mortal. Some day I might remember how I had won you, if you outstepped the bounds of strict prudence, and this might raise the demon Suspicion in my mind. You see how candid I am!"