"Do you fear any such torpor in your own life?
My love, this hasn't always been so." "I feel too much in me to manage, sometimes," said he, leaning forward on his knees, and working in the sanded path with his foot.

"I'm not accustomed to myself yet: it will come all right, later.

My health and strength, too, so soon after my weakness--they intoxicate me, I think." Sophie looked at his broad back and dark curly head, and brown, short beard, as he sat thus beside her, and she grew pale, and sighed, "It isn't right, dear," said she, shaking her head.

"There is a quiet and deep strength--not demonstrative--that is better than any passion: it is less striking, I suppose, but it recognizes more a Power greater than any we have." "It's true--what you say always is true!" responded Bressant, throwing himself back in the seat.

"Sophie," he added, without turning his eyes upon her, "if I shouldn't turn out all you wish, you won't stop loving me ?" "I couldn't, I think, if I tried," replied she; and there was more of regret than of satisfaction in her tone as she said it.