She lay in his strong arms, with her head on his shoulder, blushing with maidenly fear at the ardor of his passion; then Maurice, bending down his comely head, pressed a kiss on her lips. “My dearest! my own!” he murmured rapturously; “how I love you! love you! love you!” Lost in the overwhelming deeps of each other’s affection, they remained silent, filled with feelings too deep for words, too inexplicable to be translated otherwise than by sighs and glances. The delicate voices of the woodlands sounded in their ears, the brilliant colors blazed in the luminous light, the sun shone, the birds sang, but they heard nothing, saw nothing; for, with their hearts beating, their souls blending, their lips meeting, they were far away from this earth in the heaven of love. There was something sacred about this outburst of passion, which sent a thrill of fear through their breasts; for this was no vulgar affection, no sensual desire, no mere adoration of outward beauty, but a chaste union of two souls, in which the woman’s melted into the man’s as a dream into a dream. The virginal purity of the young girl experienced no repulsion in this case, as it had felt when near to the frank animal passion of the handsome Greek; and Helena, exquisite blossom of maidenhood, lay in her lover’s arms without shame or dread, for she knew that this clinging clasp, these broken sighs, this vivid ardor, were the outcome of a love as pure and chaste as was her own; so there she lay, cradled on his beating heart, and the birds around sang their betrothal song, as doubtless they carolled to our first parents in the garden of Eden. Time was not, earth had vanished, humanity was but an empty name, for, clinging together with passionate ardor, they were all in all to one another, and the divinity which clothed them with his splendors was no rosy, mischievous urchin, with his bundle of arrows, but a terrible, unseen, unknown, unfelt deity, who now, for the first time, had permitted them to enter into his Holy of holies, and touched with their lips the burning coals of his sacred altar. Alas! mighty as are the pinions of Love, they weary in that divine atmosphere of transcendentalism; so, folding his wings, he ceased his song of bliss, and dropped like a tired lark to the earth. The lovers awoke from their mystic trance, and looked at one another with wide-eyed rapture; then Helena, with a happy sigh, once more laid her head on her lover’s shoulder, and began to talk of earthly matters. “My father!” “Your father will be delighted, my dearest. He told me that this was the dearest wish of his heart.” “Ah! is he so anxious, then, to lose me?” “No, he will not lose you, my sweet queen. For when we are married we will still dwell in Melnos, and reign over it through years of happiness.” “My father wants you to be his successor?” “Yes; and to marry you. So if you fulfil the first, I will accept the second.”