"Only cousins," responded the dame, surveying us attentively, "Well, I'm glad of it, for there's no law ag'in cousins marryin', and you'd make such a handsome couple." And she laughed until her sides shook. CHAPTER VII. IN THE FOREST NOOK. Leaving the farmhouse, we bent our way to the Palisades again. We had been gay and happy all the morning, now we became thoughtful. We entered a narrow path, and presently came upon the dear nook where we had spent so many happy hours. It was a quiet space of green-sward and velvet moss, encircled on all sides, save one, by the trunks of giant forest trees--the oak, the tulip poplar and the sycamore--which arose like rugged columns, their branches forming a roof far overhead. Half-way between the sward and the branches, hung a drapery of vines, swinging in the sunlight, and showering blossoms and fragrance on the summer air. Light shrubbery grew between the massive trunks of the trees, and in one part of the glade a huge rock arose, its summit projecting over the sward, and forming a sort of canopy or shelter for a rustic seat fashioned of oaken boughs. Looking upward through the drapery of vines and the roof of boughs, only one glimpse of blue sky was visible. Toward the east the glade was open, and over the tops of the forest trees (which rose from the glen beneath), you saw the river, the distant village and my cottage home shining in the sun. At the foot of the oak which formed one of the portals of the glade, was a clear cold spring, resting in a basin of rock, and framed in leaves and flowers. Altogether the dear nook of the forest was worthy of June. For a moment we surveyed this quiet scene--thought of the many happy hours we had spent there in the previous summer--and then turning our faces to the east, we stood, hand link'd in hand, gazing over forest trees and river upon our far-off cottage home. "Does it not look beautiful, as it shines there in the sun?"--I said. Ernest at first did not reply, but turned his gaze full upon me. His face was flushed and there was a strange fire in his eyes. "To-morrow you leave that home forever," he exclaimed, and I trembled, I knew not why at the sound of his voice--"I will never see you again--I--" he dropped my hand and turned his face away. I saw his head fall on his breast, and saw that breast heave with agitation; urged by an impulse I could not control, I glided to his side, put my hand upon his arm, and looked up into his face. "Ernest," I whispered. He turned to me, for a moment regarded me with a look of intense passion and then caught me to his heart. His arms were around me, my bosom heaved against his breast, his kiss was on my lips--the first kiss since childhood, and O, how different from the kiss which a brother presses on a sister's lips!