He loves me.

In those words are concentrated a whole world of joy--Charles loves me--he will not forsake me.

Oh, was there ever such dear love--such fond devotion ?--never, never.

Dear Charles.

He loves me--he loves me!" The very repetition of these words had a charm for Flora--a charm which was sufficient to banish much sorrow; even the much-dreaded vampyre was forgotten while the light of love was beaming upon her, and she told herself,-- "He is mine!--he is mine! He loves me truly." After a time, she turned to the manuscript which her brother had brought her, and, with a far greater concentration of mind than she had thought it possible she could bring to it, considering the many painful subjects of contemplation that she might have occupied herself with, she read the pages with very great pleasure and interest.
The tale was one which chained her attention both by its incidents and the manner of its recital.