feared only that Theresa would be sick, or that she would encounter
some of the thousand accidents and evils, whose spectres haunt us upon
the eve of a first separation. I thought it kinder to be silent as to
my own very different misgivings, and to dwell only on the encouraging
part of the prospect. There might be nothing to dread, after all, and
it was possibly only our unwillingness to part with Theresa, that thus
assumed to itself the tormenting shape of inquietude.

During our conversation, which was carried on in an under tone, little
Amy had fallen asleep, and after carefully placing her on the couch,
and kissing the fair face of the slumberer, that shone like a
faultless picture from its frame of golden curls, Theresa adjourned
with Gerald to the porch. It was a perfect evening, and the rays of
the full moon illumined the little portico, throwing on its floor, in
fanciful mosaic, the fantastic shadows of the vines which draperied
the pillars, and lighting up with its spiritual radiance, the earnest
countenances of the youthful friends. Gerald looked more than usually
pale in the blanching beams, and Theresa's gaze was sad and tearful.

"You will forget us all, Theresa," said the boy; "you will find
elsewhere gayer and dearer companions; you will be praised and
flattered, and it will be several years before you will be stationary
here again."

"Do you remember the book we read together but a few days since?" she
answered, "and which says there is no such thing as forgetting
possible to the mind?"

"Well, but at least you may grow indifferent," persisted Gerald,
already betraying manhood's perverseness in suspicion, "at least you
may grow indifferent, and that is even worse than forgetfulness."

"Far worse," answered Theresa, "I would rather a thousand times be
wholly forgotten, than know that the heart which loved me had grown
cold and careless. But, Gerald, you are my first friend, the only one
of my own age I have ever known, and how can I lose the recollection
of all we have thought and hoped together? And then I shall be too
constantly occupied to form other ties, for I intend to study
incessantly, and to return here all, mentally, that my friends can
wish me."

"Are you not that already; I, for one, do not desire you to change."

"You will alter your flattering opinion, _mon ami_, if I can by
application realize the bright pictures my ambition paints. I shall be
so much happier when I have tested mys