'No words I can say to-day can tell you of my love more plainly than my heart has been telling you in every hour of this happy, happy time that you and I have spent together.

I love you as I never hoped to love, fervently, completely, believing that the perfection of earthly bliss will be mine if I can but win you.

Dearest, is there such a sweet hope for me; are you indeed my own, as I am yours, heart and soul, and mind and being, till the last throb of life in this poor clay ?' He tried to take her hand, but she drew herself away from him with a frightened look.

She was very pale, and there was infinite distress in the dark violet eyes, which looked entreatingly, deprecatingly at her lover.
'I dare not answer as you would like me to answer,' she faltered, after a painful pause.

'I am not my own mistress.