My next care was to make a sort of temporary bed for my sweet cousin; and then, having taken what portion of the provisions we wanted, and distributed the rest among the soldiery, I supped gayly and happily with Louise, and passed nearly two hours in conversation, mingling sad things with sweet ones, with many an affectionate word between. It was evident to me that Louise was unconscious of any change in her own feelings towards me, or in mine to her; and I blessed that unconsciousness, for it suffered a thousand little tender tokens of affection to display themselves openly in her conduct, which might have been driven back into the shy recesses of the heart had she known the full strength of her own sensations towards me. The only thought that seemed to have given her uneasiness, had been altogether removed by my telling her that we should join good La Tour on the following day; and the joy of our meeting again seemed checkered by nothing but some timid fears lest we should be pursued and overpowered by some force from the Catholic camp. Thus passed the time brightly and happily, till at length the chimes of a distant clock, though we could hear it but faintly, told that one hour had passed after midnight. Rest, I knew, was needful to her, and I spread out the cloaks and blankets on the straw, so as to ensure that no cold should there visit those young, tender limbs, and piled up a quantity of wood upon the hearth, assuring the long continuance of the fire by burying a considerable part in the ashes. I then took Louise in my arms and kissed her, wishing her good-night; but she seemed somewhat frightened at the idea of my leaving her, asking why I could not stay beside her, and sleep by the fire too. I could have stayed and watched her slumbers with the greatest pleasure; but I would not have it said by any one that such had been the case. The men were still talking together in the next chamber; the door I had purposely left ajar; and pointing out to Louise that the only window was up near the roof, through which no one could pass, I told her that I would lay myself across her door till the morning, so that she might be sure no one could come in. "Dear Louise," I said, "I must not stay, I ought not to stay with you." I again held her for a moment to my heart; the colour came up brightly into her cheek, and she hid her face for a moment on my bosom. "Thank you, Henry, thank you," she said, when she raised her head, but still leaving her hand in mine. "You are good as well as kind." And from that moment, though she did not love me less, Louise felt that we could no longer be brother and sister to each other. CHAPTER XII.