It seemed as if he were moved
beyond all the ordinary feelings of reunion and of love. He did not
attempt to kiss the hands he held; and though the touch thrilled through
every vein and fibre of his frame, his clasp was as light as that in
which the first timidity of a boy's love ventures to stamp itself!

"You are pale, Lucy," said he, mournfully, "and your cheek is much
thinner than it was when I first saw you. When I first saw you! Ah!
would for your sake that that had never been! Your spirits were light
then, Lucy; your laugh came from the heart, your step spurned the earth.
Joy broke from your eyes, everything that breathed around you seemed
full of happiness and mirth; and now, look upon me, Lucy! lift those
soft eyes, and teach them to flash upon me indignation and contempt!
Oh, not thus, not thus! I could leave you happy,--yes, literally
blessed,--if I could fancy you less forgiving, less gentle, less
angelic!"

"What have I to forgive?" said Lucy, tenderly.

"What! everything for which one human being can pardon another. Have not
deceit and injury been my crimes against you? Your peace of mind, your
serenity of heart, your buoyancy of temper,--have I marred these or
not?"

"Oh, Clifford!" said Lucy, rising from herself and from all selfish
thoughts, "why, why will you not trust me? You do not know me, indeed
you do not,--you are ignorant even of the very nature of a woman, if you
think me unworthy of your confidence! Do you believe I could betray
it, or do you think that if you had done that for which all the world
forsook you, I could forsake?"

Lucy's voice faltered at the last words; but it sank, as a stone sinks
into deep waters, to the very core of Clifford's heart. Transported from
all resolution and all forbearance, he wound his arms around her in one
long and impassioned caress; and Lucy, as her breath mingled with his,
and her cheek drooped upon his bosom, did indeed feel as if the past
could contain no secret powerful enough even to weaken the affection
with which her heart clung to his. She was the first to extricate
herself from their embrace. She drew back her face from his, and smiling
on him through her tears, with a brightness that the smiles of her
earliest youth had never surpassed, she said,--

"Listen to me. Tell me your history or not, as you will. But believe
me, a woman's wit is often no despicable counsellor. They who accuse
themselves the most bitterly are not often those whom i