“One sultry evening near the end of August, when the sun was about to disappear in the West, after having scorched and burned the earth for twelve consecutive hours, I found myself lingering in the summer-house by Lottie, where I had been for a long time trying to collect the necessary courage to tell her of my love. “‘Sing one more song for me, Lottie, before I go, please,’ said I, as I drew my chair closer to hers. “‘What shall it be?’ she inquired, as she picked up her guitar and began to run her fingers over the strings. “‘I would like to hear the one you sang the night of the ball--I do not know its name. It says something about a hero who loved you in the happy days of old, who loves you now no more.’ “‘Oh, yes; I never will forget that song, for it is one of my favorites, and my own composition. Do you like it, Edward?’ “‘I like to hear you sing it, but I do not think I like the sentiment, for I am sure no one ever loved you in the days of old who does not love you now.’ “I saw a crimson tinge steal over her cheeks, as her beautiful eyes were for a moment fixed on me. “‘A hero did love me, long ago, anyway, though I don’t know so well about it now; but let that pass--we poor, foolish women should never complain about anything.’ “She then began to tune the instrument, which was suspended by a broad blue ribbon that passed over her left shoulder and was tied to a little brass hook in each end of the guitar. “Lottie’s voice seemed to be in excellent tune, and in all respects under her control, though it was low and tremulous; and when she came to the line that said, ‘He loves me now no more,’ she looked me full in the face, and repeated the line in a pathetic tone that brought the tears to my eyes. Every vein in my body was full of hot blood. When Lottie came to the last three lines her voice sank to a mere whisper, and I could see that some unusual emotion was at work in her bosom. She paused a moment as the sweet echo of her voice gradually died away, and then she turned round, and fixing her eyes upon me, repeated the last verse: “‘I remember every vow-- A hero loved me then. It crowds my memory now, For he kissed me on the brow, Then he sweetly told me how He loved me truly then.’ “She laid the guitar down and turned her face another way, and as I leaned forward slightly, I saw something like a drop of dew trembling on her cheek. That little trembling tear settled my fate. An unaccountable boldness came upon me, and all my timidity disappeared, and I was rash, impetuous, and I might say rude, because I seized her hand and pressed it to my lips a dozen times in rapid succession. My impetuosity seemed to astonish and frighten her, and she began to move away. “‘It is time I was in the house, Edward,’ said she as she moved away; ‘mother will be calling me if I don’t go.’