is harsh, the teachers cruel, and the
girls so strange: they do not love me," she cried, in a burst of
passionate weeping; "nobody loves Louisa!"

"Oh, Louisa, dearest Louisa, do not say so!" he exclaimed passionately;
"do not say that nobody loves you, when I have come so far expressly to
see if you are happy. I love you, Louisa, with all the warmth of my
ardent nature, with undying affection. I want you to be mine--MINE! that
I may guard you from every ill but such as I can share."

"Oh! can you--will you--do this, Arthur? Will you, indeed, share all my
troubles and sorrows, nor deem them, when the first full joy of love is
past, unworthy of your attention--your cares, too great to admit of such
trifles, claiming your consideration? If you will, and also let me share
all your joys and griefs in perfect sympathy and love, then--then my
dream of happiness will be fulfilled; but if, in years to come," she
continued, with suppressed emotion, "you should change, and a harshness
or indifference take the place of sympathy and love, Oh I would wish to
die before that day!"

"Dearest Louisa, can you doubt me?"

"I will trust you, Arthur, but I have seen that which makes me almost
doubt the existence of love and happiness. I can picture to myself the
home of love and peace that I would have. Is it an impossibility; is it
but an ideal dream?"

"May it be a blessed reality, my darling Louisa!" he exclaimed, with
ardor, as he clasped her passionately in his arms. She made no
resistance, but, with her head resting upon his breast, she said, in a
tone of deep earnestness:

"If you loved me always, and were always kind, oh Arthur, I I could do
anything--suffer anything--for your sake, and care for naught beyond our
home. But, my nature is not one" she continued impetuously, "that can be
slighted, crushed, and treated with unkindness or indifference, and
endure it patiently. No!" she added, with suppressed passion, "a fierce
flame of resentment, bitterness, perchance even hatred, would spring up
and sweep all kindly feelings far away!"

"Oh, Louisa, Louisa!" interrupted Arthur in a tone of tender
remonstrance, "why do you speak in this dreadful manner--why do you
doubt my love and constancy?"

The impetuous mood was gone, and a trusting confidence succeeded it.
She fixed her eyes upon his face with an expression of unutterable
tenderness, as she answered, in a sweet, soft voice, "I love you,
Arthur; I cannot doubt you; you