“You should know that I have passed a terrible ordeal, that left my heart torn and bleeding; and one like me does not recover rapidly from such a shock. The first moment my eyes rested upon you, I read, as in an open book, what my father in other words predicted long ago—that you were my destiny: that you could waken every possibility of tenderness, of devotion, of high purpose, of which I am capable; and I knew well from the first, how strongly you were drawn toward me. Yet had you wooed me then, as lovers woo, I should have hidden myself from you, if for nothing else, for the pleasure of torturing myself, so strangely subversive does the power of love become by the wrongs it may have suffered! But you did not do this. In no way have you ever offended me, even in the slightest word, or tone, or motion. In all things you are adorable in my eyes. Surely _you_ can understand—if not, there is no one else but me who can—that love may sometimes be too intense, too deep for any of love’s ordinary expressions. I am only waiting for a saner moment, a more simple and common impulse; and therefore, when I can, and as soon as I can, I shall hold out my arms to you.” When Clara next met Paul, three days after he received this letter, she was riding over the river with her father and Susie, and met him returning. Clara’s quick eyes divined, in his, an expression of triumphant happiness which was entirely new to them. She allowed her hand to rest longer than usual in his, though in the presence of others. Both those hands were gloved, but the warmth and magnetism with which they were charged would have passed through a substance much thicker or more obdurate than kid. That evening he called on Clara, and found Miss Delano with her. Miss Delano had just returned from Boston, and, in speaking of her brother, she said he was almost morose over his disappointment in not having an heir. “He is the last male member of a long line,” she said, “and I don’t believe he will ever have children. To be sure, he has been married to Miss Wills only about a year and a half.” “Nature seems to have a spite in such cases,” remarked the count, “when the family name is represented by only one man. If I were you, Charlotte, I would marry. You are still young, and a son of yours might continue the name.” The count offered it as the most natural suggestion in the world; but as Miss Charlotte was inclined to treat it as a joke, he appealed to Clara. “I quite approve of it,” said Clara. “Miss Delano should marry.” “You think,” replied Charlotte, “that it would teach my brother a lesson. He has a great contempt for old maids, and,” she added, laughing, “I believe he would have a poor opinion of any one’s taste who should choose me for a wife.” “And then, if the rest should happen!” said Clara, “I confess I am wicked enough to take a certain delight in the thought. It would be what papa calls poetic justice.”