"Ay, there's the rub. It is for want of a true perception. There cannot be a true love without a true perception. Love is for the soul to know, from its own intuition,--not for the understanding to believe, from the testimony of those very unreliable witnesses, called eyes and ears. This seems to have been my case,--my soul was aware of _her_ love, and all the evidence of my external senses could not altogether destroy that interior faith. But that evening I said,--'I believe you now, my senses! I doubt you now, my soul!--she never loved me!' So I was really very cold towards her--for about twenty minutes. "I walked home with her;--we were both silent; but at the door she asked me to go in. Here my calmness deserted me, and I could hardly hold my heart, while I replied,-- "'If you particularly wish it.' "'If I did not, I should not ask you,' she said; and I went in. "I was ashamed and vexed at myself for trembling so,--for I was in a tremor from head to foot. There was company in the parlors,--some of Margaret's friends. I took my seat upon a sofa, and soon she came and sat by my side. "'I suppose,' said one, 'Mr. Westwood has been telling Margaret all about it.' "'About what?' Margaret inquired,--and here the truth flashed upon me,--the news of my proposed voyage had not yet reached her! She looked at me with a troubled, questioning expression, and said,-- "'I felt that something was going to happen. Tell me what it is.' "I answered,--'Your friend can best explain what she means.' "Then out came the secret. A shock of surprise sent the color from Margaret's face; and raising her eyes, she asked, quite calmly, but in a low and unnatural tone,-- "'Is this so?' "I said, 'I suppose I cannot deny it.' "'You are really going?' "'I am really going.' "She could not hide her agitation. Her white face betrayed her. Then I was glad, wickedly glad, in my heart,--and vain enough to be gratified that others should behold and know I held a power over her. Well,--but I suffered for that folly. "'I feel hurt,' she said, after a little while, 'because you have not told me this. You have no sister,' (this was spoken very quietly,) 'and it would have been a privilege for me to take a sister's place, and do for you those little things which sisters do for brothers who are going on long journeys.' "I was choked;--it was a minute before I could speak. Then I said that I saw no reason why she should tax her time or thoughts to do anything for me. "'Oh, you know,' she said, 'you have been kind to me,--so much kinder than I have deserved!' "It was unendurable,--the pathos of the words! I was blinded, stifled,--I almost groaned aloud. If we had been alone, there our trial would have ended. I should have snatched her to my soul. But the eyes of others were upon us, and I steeled myself. "'Besides,' I said, 'I know of nothing that you can do for me.'