"To-night!" cried Eros, in astonishment that was half incredulous. Psyche said nothing, but hid her face in her hands and shivered a little. "I wished to make you happy--happier than you have ever been--if you would let me," resumed the previous speaker. "Whoever has lofty beliefs will have a lofty fate. If your idea of marriage is high enough, you will not hesitate to come with me to my Paradise. How is it with you, Eros?" "Not yet," replied Eros, laughing and shaking his head. "It's too far off, and the journey is too cold. If you are really determined to leave us, you must go without me. Surely you can't expect me to be ready to start at such short notice? No, no! I mean to stay by this comfortable fireside for a long time yet, and so shall Psyche." "Death has summoned men on shorter notice than this," said the other. "Think again before you decide." "I have decided; and I never change my mind," said Eros, obstinately. And truly his preference was not an unnatural one. The old parlour presented a most attractive aspect. The great log which had been burning on the broad hearth had now fallen into glowing fragments, over which small yellow and bluish flames danced intermittently. Everything was warm, home-like, and familiar. Out of doors the stars shone crisp and white, and the snow glistened pure as a maiden's soul. But ah! it was so terribly cold; the beauty of the prospect could be enjoyed much better from the genial vantage-ground of the hearthstone. "If that is your decision, you must abide by it," said the guest, and something in the words, and in the manner they were uttered, awed Eros for the moment. Then, turning to Psyche, he continued: "But even your Eros cannot choose for you. What is your preference? Are you, too, willing to postpone Paradise for the fireside?" Psyche was naturally more imaginative than most young girls, and possibly there was something in the shadowy mystery of the hour, and in her own physical and mental condition, that wrought upon her mood. A creeping languor and a chill which the heat of the embers could not counteract were gaining possession of her, and filling her brain with weird fancies. Insensibly, he who sat beside her, and whose icy lips she had felt upon her brow, had become clothed to her apprehension with an unearthly, superhuman personality. No man was he, but an angel of tender and mighty sway, stooping from heaven on the eve of Christmas, to hold high argument with two mortal lovers on those questions which most nearly concern their welfare. As she spoke her voice sounded faint and ethereal, while her eyes sought to penetrate the shadow which had fallen over the face of Eros. "It is pleasant here," she said; "yet if, in Paradise, our union may be eternal and secure, it is surely better to be there."