nnot view them coldly."

"Well, then, your presence here will give him more pleasure than any
other token of respect you can bestow; and, I am sure, I should be
rejoiced--that is to say--that is--I should be glad to have you stay
longer, if you can be contented," stammered Emily, as her mantling
blushes betrayed her confusion. Deception was not in her nature, and,
strive as hard as she might, she must reveal her feelings.

"I should be happier than it is possible for me to express in remaining
at Bellevue. My month has passed away like a dream of pleasure,--so
short it seemed that time had staid his wheels,--so joyous that earth
seemed shorn of sorrow. You know not how much I have enjoyed the society
of your father, and, pardon me, of yourself," returned Henry, scarcely
less confused than Emily.

"I am glad to hear you say so," she replied, with some hesitation, and
fearful of exposing the sentiment she was conscious of cherishing. "I
have thought that, accustomed as you are to the stirring life of the
camp, you had grown tired of our quiet home."

"You wrong me, Emily, I should never weary here; but I was fearful that
I had already staid too long," said Henry, in a sad tone, for he felt it
most deeply, though not in the sense that Emily understood him.

"Too long! Then you are weary of us, and I will not chide you forbidding
us adieu," said Emily, with a glance of anxiety at Henry.

"Nay, Miss Dumont, do not misinterpret my words. I am not weary, I
cannot be weary, of Bellevue and its fair and good inmates."

"Then what mean you by saying you have staid too long?"

"Pardon me, I cannot tell why I said it; but I feel that I should do
wrong to prolong my stay, however congenial to my feelings to do so,"
replied Henry, with the most evident embarrassment.

"How strange you talk, Henry! What mystery is this?" said Emily, to whom
prudential motives were unknown.

"If it be a mystery, pray do not press me to unravel it, for I cannot."

His resolution was fast giving way before the strength of his love. He
was sorely tempted to throw himself at her feet and pour forth the
acknowledgment of his affection, which, he felt, would be kindly
received. It was a difficult position for a man of sensitive feelings to
be placed in, and he felt it keenly. But the duty he owed to his
benefactor seemed imperative.

Emily, on her part, was sadly bewildered by the strangeness of Henry's
words; but she had no suspicion of the tru