“I am when I think of _her_! Oh, she is the very soul of love! My life became brighter, warmer, richer, when she came to me. That beautiful and loving child! her love bathes everything she looks upon in light and heat, as the sunbeams flood the landscapes! You will love her so much! She, the sweet child, loves all things—pities, spares, or ministers to all things, from the broken rose-tree that wants binding up, to the old negro toiling home at noon from his hard day’s work. I have seen the sweet child run and dip up a gourd of water from the bucket at the well, and carry to such a one, looking up so reverentially in his face, as though old age, toil, and suffering in any form, awoke her veneration. She is delicate and sensitive, too; she cannot bear the least unkind word or look; nor the least excess of cold or heat. This susceptible temperament, I think it is, that gives her such warm sympathies.” Captain Wilde was looking up with ardent admiration into the eloquent face of Sophie. “Ah, I see,” she continued, “that you admire her; and you will love her, oh! so much; your soul will go forth and bathe her with love as mine does. Oh, your soul will warm over her, glow over her, live around her. Your life will brighten into refulgence for loving Rosalia. Ah, yes! I see you will love her—you do love her. I see it in your speaking face.” “My own dear Sophie! I love you—_you_—my life brightens into refulgence in the light of _your_ love—_yours_, my Sophie, of the loving heart and eloquent lip.” “People have blamed me for loving Rosalia, but how can I help it? You will see how impossible it will be.” “Well, my beautiful Sophie (how radiant your face becomes in the praise of one you love), my beautiful Sophie! what has this little Rosalia to do with the postponement of our union?” “Merely this—Rosalia is my ward. She is now daily expected. If she should not arrive to-day, or to-morrow, I could not leave the neighborhood finally, of course, without seeing her—being assured of her safety—indeed, I should not like to leave her with Hagar?” “Why?” “Hagar is dangerous to one so tender as Rosalia. Would you put a dove in the guardianship of a young eagle? Hagar has a fine, high spirit—she would go through fire or flood to serve one she loved—but, mark you! she would cast that one she loved back into fire or flood if they should offend her. Therefore, with your consent, dear Augustus, I should wish to await Rosalia here, and take her with us to Boston.” Captain Wilde left her side and walked up and down the grapery for awhile. Then coming to her, he said, “I will write to the Department to-night for an extension of my leave of absence, Sophie.” “Will you? Oh! will you? I shall be so glad! Of course you will get it?” “Probably—yes; still these favors should be charily solicited, Sophie.”