"It is a pretty dress," she said, looking down at the soft mass of muslin and lace; "but I little thought when I put it on for dinner this evening that it would be my bridal dress. I shall always love this dress, Leslie. I will keep it always in memory of to-night." Both were silent after a little while, till Leslie said, abruptly: "Bonnibel, I wish I knew of what you are thinking so intently." "I was hardly thinking at all," she said, quickly. "Some verses were running through my mind that I read this evening in Jean Ingelow's pretty poems. I hardly understood them then, but they seem to suit my feelings now." "Let me hear them," said Leslie. "I cannot recall them, except the last verse. The poem was called 'Divided,' and the last verse, which is all that I clearly recollect, ran thus: "'And yet I know, past all doubting truly-- A knowledge greater than grief can dim-- I know as he loved he will love me duly, Yea, better, e'en better than I love him. And as I walk by the vast, calm river, The awful river so dread to see. I say, thy breadth and thy depth forever Are bridged by his thoughts that cross to me.'" "Beautiful," said Leslie, as the full voice, tremulous with newly awakened feeling died away. "You must always recall those lines when you think of me, my little one." The keel grated on the shore. Leslie looked at his watch in the moonlight. "It is later than I thought," he said, hurriedly, as he helped Bonnibel out upon the shore. "I have but fifteen minutes to reach the station. Darling, I must go to-night, though it nearly kills me to leave you." She turned quivering and weeping, to throw herself upon his breast. "Darling, you are not afraid to go to the house alone?" he whispered. "My time is so short!" "No, no," she said. "But, Leslie, how _can_ I let you go?" "'Tis but a little while," he answered, soothingly. "Be brave, my precious darling!" He drew her to his heart with a long, despairing embrace, and kissed her passionately. "My little love, my own sweet _wife_, good-bye!" he faltered, and was gone. Bonnibel threw out her yearning arms as if she would draw him back, then turned and staggered homeward. "I _will_ be brave," she murmured. "I will try to bear it, but, oh, this pain at my heart." She opened the gate and went softly up the walk. It was almost midnight, and she began to wonder if the doors would be locked. "If they are I shall have to get in through the window," she said to herself. But as she stepped on the piazza she saw the front door open and her uncle sitting motionless in his easy chair. "Poor dear," she thought, with a thrill of regretful tenderness, and forgetting herself entirely. "He has fallen asleep in his chair and they have all forgotten him. I will wake him with a kiss."