I love you with a love which leaves me no words to tell it.

I know my faults, my poverty, my unworthiness; but--but--may I--may I hope ?" And all the woman was in Constance's cheek, as she listened.

That cheek, how richly was it dyed! Her eyes drooped; her bosom heaved.

How every word in those broken sentences sank into her heart! never was a tone forgotten.

The child may forget its mother, and the mother desert the child: but never, never from a woman's heart departs the memory of the first confession of love from him whom she first loves! She lifted her eyes, and again withdrew them, and again gazed.
"This must not be," at last she said; "no, no! it is folly, madness in both!" "Not so; nay, not so!" whispered Godolphin, in the softest notes of a voice that could never be harsh.