But that spirit was all the time busy with other things. It was like thinking in the midst of music--one of the sweetest things I know in life when the heart is at ease--when we feel that harmony, are harmonized by it, and yet lose not one thread of the golden web we are weaving. There was a certain degree of waywardness in my mood, which, perhaps, that morning-scene encouraged, though I know not whence it originally sprung--a feeling of power, which I was inclined to sport with. May I own it? I experienced, I fancy, some of the sensations of the despot, when he remembers how much happiness or misery hung upon his will. Could it be that the treacherous heart was too conscious of the power Bessy had given me to decide her fate and mine for both? No, no, I will not believe it; and, at all events, if I was inclined, as I have said, to sport with the power, I was not inclined to abuse it. But, somehow, during the calm, refreshing sleep of the preceding night, confidence had returned; and I felt as if something was ever whispering in my ear that there could be no possible circumstance in the past or the present which could place a barrier between me and her I loved. Bessy did not keep me long waiting; for she was by my side before the clock had finished striking; and, oh, she looked very lovely, though her cheek was paler than usual, and her eyes somewhat languid. The eyelashes looked longer and darker than ever, the iris more full, though more shaded by the drooping lid. The beautiful, dark, silky hair was perhaps not arranged with all the trim care of former days; but the wavy lines were more plainly seen, making, as some old poet called it, "traps for sunbeams." I could see that she had made up her mind to her fate during the night--that she had prejudged my decision--or else felt that, after all that had passed, we could not be separated; for when she gave me her hand, she held up her lips to me also for the morning kiss, as if she would have said,--"I know how it must be." Bessy had got the packet of letters in her hand; and I was leading her to the sofa, but she stopped me, saying,-- "Let us go out amongst the trees, dear Richard. You know what a wild, fanciful girl I am; and when I have to encounter anything that is likely to agitate me, I would rather have breathing-room in the free air, and trees, and flowers, and birds around me, in preference to tables and chairs." "And do you think anything will agitate you this morning, love?" I asked, somewhat maliciously, I am afraid. "Oh, yes," she answered. "How can it be otherwise? although I know quite well, Richard, how you will decide, and what you will say, and I will abide by my promise; yet the very talking of such things must agitate me much."