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. "Or, if I could,
it would tear me all to pieces; and there would be nothing left but my
love to God, which is His already. All of me, except that, is love for
you."

"God and heaven seem unreal--unsubstantial, at any rate--compared with
you," said Bressant, striking his hand heavily upon the arm of the
rustic bench. "My love for you is greater than for them!"

"Oh, stop! hush!" cried Sophie, flinching back as if she had received a
mortal thrust. The light of indignation and repulse in her gray eyes was
awful to Bressant, and his own dropped beneath it. "Have you no respect
for your soul?" she continued, presently. "How long would such love
last? in what would it end? it would not be love--it would be the
deadliest kind of hate."

Bressant rose to his feet, and made a gesture with his arms in the air,
as if striving by a physical act to regain the mental force and
equilibrium which Sophie had so unexpectedly overthrown. The mighty
strength and untamed vehemence of the man's nature were exhibited in the
movement. Sophie saw, in the vision of a moment, on how wild and stormy
a sea she had embarked, and for a moment, perhaps, she quailed at the
sight. But again her great love brought back the flush of dauntless
courage, and her trembling ceased. She became aware, at that critical
moment, that she was the stronger of the two; and Bressant probably felt
it also. He had put forth all his power in a passionate and convulsive
effort to prevail over the soul of this delicate girl, and he had been
worsted in the brief, silent struggle. He did not need to look in her
clear eyes to know it.

His love must have been strong, indeed; for it stood the test of the
defeat. He sat down again, and after an almost imperceptible hesitation,
he held out his hand toward her. She put her own in it, with its
pressure, soft and delicately strong.

"I can't reason about these things--I can only feel," said he. "You can
look into my heart if you will. Don't give me up: you can help me to see
it all as you do. Isn't it your duty, Sophie, if you love me?"

"Oh! I will pray for you, my darling," she answered, almost sobbing in
the tenderness of her great heart, and laying her head upon his b