I have never loved but one." "Mary, can it be possible that you have loved me, when I fancied, of late, that indifference, and even dislike, nestled in your heart?
We shall yet be happy! I thank God that we shall be so blest!" And he pressed the thin hand to his lips.
"Do not deceive yourself.

Your confession has come too late.

I can never be yours, for the hand of death is already laid upon me, and my spirit will wing its way, ere long, home to God.

Now that we understand each other, and while I yet live, let us be as calm, as happy as the circumstances allow.

It may seem hard that I should be taken when the future appears so bright, but I do not repine, neither must you.