“Pray rise, Mr. Wilton. Do not kneel to me; you distress me--indeed, indeed you do!” she exclaimed in a low tone, the last word becoming inaudible. Mark rose up. He saw that she appeared faint and seemed tottering. It is not wonderful that he should slide gently his arm around that small waist, which never had been lovingly encircled by the arm of man before. She was faint and full of tears, so the arm remained where it had been placed; and, somehow, her head rested upon his breast, while large glittering drops fell from her eyes to the ground. Oh, the bliss of that moment! Never before in her life had she experienced any emotion equalling that exquisite felicity. It was natural that the same impulse which drew Lotte to Mark’s breast should dictate to him to hold back, for an instant, that pretty head, and to press his lips upon her forehead. It was Lotte’s first love-kiss. She broke from him, startled, affrighted; ran, like a terrified fawn, to a chair, upon which she sank sobbing. Mark followed her, and bent over her. “Lotte,” he whispered, gently, in her ear, “do not weep, my own sweet little girl; I cannot bear to see you in tears. I love you, as I have confessed to you, fondly and dearly, and I would make you my own little wife, if you will have me.” Lotte still wept, but it was with an intensity of happiness to which previously she had been an entire stranger. Oh, those day dreams! those visions of Paradise, in which she had indulged to wake out of only with a sigh. Were they, after all, to be realized, and should she really and truly have for her very own that handsome, manly fellow, now pleading his suit in her ear? The vision was one of happiness to her indeed. But she woke up from it. Her common sense presented itself coldly and gravely before her; it held up a mirror to her, in which she saw at a glance their respective social positions, and she saw that what she had just heard with such trembling delight was, after all, a dream, only to be added to others which had been dissipated. She rose up, and turned her face towards him, bending upon him her now timid gaze. “I must not listen to you, Mr. ‘Wilton,” she said, in a low, sad tone. “No?” he cried, in a startled tone; “why not? You love another, Lotte, is that why?” he asked, excitedly. She shook her head gently. “No,” she replied. He uttered an audible sigh of relief. “That is glad tidings!” he ejaculated, with evident satisfaction, and added--“Before we proceed farther--before you say to me aught which may be unsatisfactory in my ears--let us, dear, dear Lotte, come to a decided understanding with each other. I love you, oh! so dearly. You have confessed to me you love no other man----” “My brother!” said Lotte, archly--serious as she was at heart, she could not forbear the observation. He waved his hand impatiently. “Oh, Lotte! tell me, do you--at least, I should say, do you think you could be brought at some future time to love me?”