“I have always known,” she said at last, “that you loved me, and have always believed that some time you would come to me and declare it, just as you have to-night. It was my only wish ungratified, for nothing was lacking besides that to complete my happiness.” I pressed her closer to me, and for the first time in a great many months the tears came into my eyes until I could not see her. During all the trouble at Jo’s my concern found no relief, but her love for me made me realize how wretched I had been, and in spite of all I could do the tears came into my eyes. I tried to apologize for the weakness, but she wiped the tears away so tenderly that I thought certainly there was never such a loving touch as hers, and blessed her for the hundredth time. I led her into the adjoining room, and when we sat down by the window, and opened the shutters, I saw by the moonlight which came streaming in that she was dressed in white, and that she so much resembled a pretty bride that I could not help holding her off from me, and admiring her. “You remember I used to tell you,” Agnes said, “that some day my ship would come in after a stormy voyage, and bring me many rich gifts. I think you always thought I referred to my father.” I acknowledged that I did. “But really I referred to your coming to me, and telling me (as I believed you would) that you loved me. I never had a hope that my father was alive, and as I told you about my ship sailing toward me when you were but a boy--I was but a girl when I first came to Fairview--I must have referred to you, as I certainly did.” She was sitting near an open piano, and lightly touching the keys, I recognized the air of an old love song she had taught me the first year of our acquaintance, “In flattering dreams I dreamed thee mine.” “We were both so wretched during the first years of our acquaintance,” Agnes said, “that I sometimes feared we must always remain apart, but I never for a moment thought you did not love me. I always knew it, and was constantly trying to deserve it. If I heard of you in a creditable connection, I was pleased, and strived harder than ever, and there never was a doubt but that you would come to me--some time; I did not know when--and tell me what you have told me to-night. I have nothing to wish for now except that I may be long spared to show you how much I love you for it.” We must have been very happy during the hour or more we sat by the window, for during that time I did not once think of Jo, nor should I have thought of him for a much longer time had not Barker’s step on the walk aroused me. We both went out to meet him--he had finished his work, and was coming to the house for the night--and, frightened at my neglect, I hurriedly ran over what I came to say. He looked at me in grave surprise, and, leading me back to the room, asked me to repeat what I had said.