e him; I know you have
not yet perceived how tender a heart lies beneath all that melancholy
and reserve."

"I feel, indeed," said Ellinor warmly, "as if it were impossible that
one whom you love should not be all that is good and noble; yet if this
reserve of his should increase, as is at least possible, with increasing
years; if our society should become again, as it once was, distasteful
to him, should I not lose you, Madeline?"

"But his reserve cannot increase: do you not perceive how much it is
softened already? Ah! be assured that I will charm it away."

"But what is the cause of the melancholy that even now, at times,
evidently preys upon him?--has he never revealed it to you?"

"It is merely the early and long habit of solitude and study, Ellinor,"
replied Madeline; "and shall I own to you I would scarcely wish that
away; his tenderness itself seems linked with his melancholy. It is like
a sad but gentle music, that brings tears into our eyes, but which we
would not change for gayer airs for the world."

"Well, I must own," said Ellinor, reluctantly, "that I no longer wonder
at your infatuation; I can no longer chide you as I once did; there is,
assuredly, something in his voice, his look, which irresistibly sinks
into the heart. And there are moments when, what with his eyes and
forehead, his countenance seems more beautiful, more impressive, than
any I ever beheld. Perhaps, too, for you, it is better, that your lover
should be no longer in the first flush of youth. Your nature seems
to require something to venerate, as well as to love. And I have ever
observed at prayers, that you seem more especially rapt and carried
beyond yourself, in those passages which call peculiarly for worship and
adoration."

"Yes, dearest," said Madeline fervently, "I own that Eugene is of all
beings, not only of all whom I ever knew, but of whom I ever dreamed, or
imagined, the one that I am most fitted to love and to appreciate. His
wisdom, but more than that, the lofty tenor of his mind, calls forth all
that is highest and best in my own nature. I feel exalted when I listen
to him;--and yet, how gentle, with all that nobleness! And to think that
he should descend to love me, and so to love me. It is as if a star were
to leave its sphere!"

"Hark! one o'clock," said Ellinor, as the deep voice of the clock told
the first hour of morning. "Heavens! how much louder the winds rave. And
how the heavy sleet drives against the w