He continued aloud, “The love of such a woman is truly given away, Amélie; no one can merit it! It is a woman's grace, not man's deserving.” “I know not,” said she; “it is not hard to give away God's gifts: love should be given freely as God gives it to us. It has no value except as the bounty of the heart, and looks for no reward but in its own acceptance.” “Amélie!” exclaimed he, passionately, turning full towards her; but her eyes remained fixed upon the ground. “The gift of such a woman's love has been the dream, the ambition of my life! I may never find it, or having found it may never be worthy of it; and yet I must find it or die! I must find it where alone I seek it--there or nowhere! Can you help me for friendship's sake--for love's sake, Amélie de Repentigny, to find that one treasure that is precious as life, which is life itself to the heart of Pierre Philibert?” He took hold of her passive hands. They trembled in his, but she offered not to withdraw them. Indeed, she hardly noticed the act in the tide of emotion which was surging in her bosom. Her heart moved with a wild yearning to tell him that he had found the treasure he sought,--that a love as strong and as devoted as that of Francesca da Rimini was her own free gift to him. She tried to answer him, but could not. Her hand still remained fast locked in his. He held to it as a drowning man holds to the hand that is stretched to save him. Philibert knew at that moment that the hour of his fate was come. He would never let go that hand again till he called it his own, or received from it a sign to be gone forever from the presence of Amélie de Repentigny. The soft twilight grew deeper and deeper every moment, changing the rosy hues of the west into a pale ashen gray, over which hung the lamp of love,--the evening star, which shines so brightly and sets so soon,--and ever the sooner as it hastens to become again the morning star of a brighter day. The shadow of the broad, spreading tree fell darker round the rustic seat where sat these two--as myriads have sat before and since, working out the problems of their lives, and beginning to comprehend each other, as they await with a thrill of anticipation the moment of mutual confidence and fond confession. Pierre Philibert sat some minutes without speaking. He could have sat so forever, gazing with rapture upon her half-averted countenance, which beamed with such a divine beauty, all aglow with the happy consciousness of his ardent admiration, that it seemed the face of a seraph; and in his heart, if not on his knees, he bent in worship, almost idolatrous, at her feet.