Our evening walk was shorter than that of the morning; for every one seemed to have a horror of the dews of sunset; but the after hours, till bed time, passed very pleasantly; for Bessy now had no coquetry about her singing, and her store seemed inexhaustible. Yet there were some songs which, though perhaps neither so rich in melody nor so scientific in composition, pleased me more than others; and I would have them over and over again. Perhaps it was that there seemed some fanciful relation between them and our mutual fate. One I remember especially:-- BESSY'S SONG. "I will not love," the maiden said. "My breast is hard as steel; No heart e'er loved but was betrayed-- Mine will not, shall not, feel." Why droops the maid her sunny head? Why swims her dewy eye? What is there in that distant tread, That makes her heart beat high? "I will not wed," the maiden said; "None ever me shall see, Like captive in a triumph led, A tyrant's slave to be." Why decks the maid her glossy hair With orange-blossoms bright? Why binds she round her forehead fair That veil of snowy white? The fish may 'scape the fisher's net; The deer, the hunter's dart; The toils of love, more deeply set, Are pitched in woman's heart. She stands before the altar now-- Her heart, her hand are given; Love's rosy hope is on her brow, And in her breast lies heaven. Thus passed the time; and day by day I grew better in health. The wound in my arm began to heal. I recovered strength, and even thought of some day mounting on horseback and taking a ride for exercise. About this time, Mr. Hubbard and Mr. Henry Thornton came together to see me. I was sitting with Bessy in the drawing-room; but although the two gentlemen came on business, they did not seem to think her presence any impediment.