“Yes, have me, have me; let me be always with you. It will be bliss ineffable. I should die if you were to leave me. My heart would consume itself in its own fires. I do not care for wealth, or rank, or distinction, or for ease or luxury. I only care for the wealth and luxury of your affection, and your constant society. I do not fear to have ‘ideality wounded and saddened.’ No, for the soul creates its own poetry. I do not fear to have every sense shocked. I do not fear to live amid unsightly objects and discordant sounds, and rough contacts; oh, no, for the soul creates its own heaven of beauty and harmony. I do not fear to have love revolted. Oh! no, no, no! I only fear a separation from you. My whole being trembling, tends toward you—so strong, as it would lose itself in you. Shut out the world, shut out light and sound, only let me feel your arms around me, pressing my bosom to your heart as now. All my life is compressed within my heart, and it is bursting to meet yours. I am blind, deaf, dead to all but you. I have scarcely self enough to say ‘I have no self.’ I love myself in you. Oh, my greater self! my larger life!” So the softly flushed and moist cheeks, the heavy, liquid eyes, and the palpitating bosom said, but no word escaped the parted and glowing lips. Nor could a word have escaped between the kisses that were pressed upon them. Then he released her, and they sat upon the old-fashioned sofa by the glowing hickory fire in the old wainscoted parlor, and, hand in hand, talked. Oh, how they talked! Sometimes with profound earnestness, sometimes with light and bantering gayety. “Yet you have had many admirers, Elsie,” said Magnus. “Have I?” she asked. “Oh, Elsie, you know that you have.” “I try not to know it.” “Why, dearest?” “Because I wish I was an Eastern bride for you. Oh, yes! I wish that I had been reared in conventual seclusion, that no man’s eye had seen me until my husband came to claim me; that, then, I could have gone apart from the world and seen only him. That would have been exquisite; that would have been blissful; for I do not want admiration; I want only your heart’s approval! There would be such intense and concentrated joy in knowing only you. My joy would be diluted if my heart were divided among many.” “But your numerous admirers, dearest?” “Oh, my numerous admirers! I did not finesse when I asked you if I really had any; for, in truth, my ‘admirers’ never came near enough to me to breathe their admiration.” “Why was that? How was that? Tell me.” “Look in my eyes, love, and read your answer there. Peruse my heart, love. It lies open to you as a book.” “Nay, tell me. I love to hear you talk. It delights me to listen to you. Tell me now. It is some sweet secret that will give me heaven to know. Come, love, be generous. Breathe the secret out upon my bosom,” he whispered softly, and drew her again to his heart. “Come, love——”