She looked up in my face and smiled, saying, "I suppose it is so, Henry. I know that since you went away from Blancford, in thinking when I might probably see you again, the space has seemed interminable." "And, now that we have met again, Louise," I said, "We are to part in a few short hours--to part, when to meet again?" She gazed down upon the ground, and sighed deeply; and I said, "You know, Louise, the messenger has gone to the Duke of Anjou's camp, to demand a safe conduct for you and the rest to join your father?" "So Marguelette told me," she replied; "oh, I hope he will not return immediately." "It will seem as but a moment to us, dear Louise," I replied; "but as a short moment, and then you will leave me, and it may be years before we meet again; and perhaps by that time, Louise"--my voice trembled, I believe, very much as I spoke--"and perhaps by that time you may be the bride of another." Louise started and let go her hold of my arm, gazing up in my face with eager and intense looks, as if she had been startled from a dream by the horrible images that came across it. "Oh, no!" she cried, somewhat reproachfully, "no, Henry--no--no." Her voice dropped as she slowly pronounced the words, and she fell into a fit of musing. "Louise," I said, after having given her some time for thought, "do you know how I love you?" "Oh yes, Henry," she replied, looking up still very pale, "I know you love me." "But do you know how well I love you, Louise?" I demanded. "Do you know that I love you doubly, that I have loved you twice?" "Twice!" she said, musing. "That is strange, Henry. I think I know what you mean, too; and yet it is strange." "Scarcely strange, dearest," I answered, "scarcely strange. You know I loved you well before I quitted Blancford; dearly, most dearly, Louise. But I love you differently now; better, more dearly, more warmly, more tenderly." I heard her breath come very thick as I spoke, and she leaned her hand upon my arm, still looking down, and saying, as if for the first time she was scanning her own feeling, "Differently? oh yes--and I love you differently too." I threw my arm around her and drew her to my bosom, saying, "Thank you, thank you, dearest Louise, for that word. Yet tell me, oh! tell me, what it is you feel towards me?" "I cannot," she said, pressing her glowing forehead against my breast, "I cannot tell you, Henry. I scarcely know myself. I feel strangely, very strangely, but it seems as if to part with you again were the most terrible thing that could befall me." Again I pressed her gently to my heart.