owing, yet so cool and fresh--like the damask rose bathed
in morning dew--so when I gaze on it I think the blushing cheek your
sweetest charm--ah! but near by breathe the rich, ripe lips, fragrant as
nectarines; and which I should swear to be the very buds of love, were
not my gaze caught up to meet your eyes--stars!--and then I know that I
have found the very soul of beauty! Oh! priceless pearl! By what rare
fortune was it that I ever found you in these Maryland woods? Love!
Angel! Marian! for that means all!" he exclaimed, in a sort of ecstasy,
straining her to his side.

And Marian dropped her blushing face upon his shoulder--she was blushing
not from bashful love alone--with it mingled a feeling of shame, regret,
and mistrust, because he praised so much her form and face; because he
seemed to love her only for her superficial good looks. She would have
spoken if she could have done so; she would have told what was on her
heart as earnest as a prayer by saying:

"Oh, do not think so much of this perishable, outward beauty; accident
may ruin it, sickness may injure it, time will certainly impair it. Do
not love me for that which I have no power over, and which may be taken
from me at any time--which I shall be sure to lose at last--love me for
something better and more lasting than that. I have a heart in this
bosom worth all the rest, a heart that in itself is an inner world--a
kingdom worthy of your rule--a heart that neither time, fortune, nor
casualty can ever change--a heart that loves you now in your strong and
beautiful youth, and will love you when you are old and gray, and when
you are one of the redeemed of heaven. Love me for this heart."

But to have saved her own soul or his, Marian could not then have spoken
those words.

So he continued to caress her--every moment growing more and more
enchanted with her loveliness. There was more of passion than affection
in his manner, and Marian felt and regretted this, though her feeling
was not a very clearly defined one--it was rather an instinct than a
thought, and it was latent, and quite subservient to her love for him.

"Love! angel! how enchanting you are," he exclaimed, catching her in his
arms and pressing kisses on her cheek and lips and neck.

Glowing with color, Marian strove to release herself. "Let me go--let us
leave this place, dear Thurston," she pleaded, attempting to rise.

"Why? Why are you in such a hurry? Why do you wish to leave me?" he