heart, as if he would suppress
a cry of agony, then held it firmly to his eyes, which were scalded by
his hot tears. He wrestled with his sufferings, but he wrestled like
a hero and a man who would not be subjugated, but is determined to
conquer. As his hand glided from his face his eyes were tearless,
and nothing was visible in his countenance but an expression of deep
earnestness.

"Well, then," said he, recovering himself, "I accept this sisterly
love as a sick man accepts the bitter medicine which he will not cast
away lest he commit suicide. I accept you as my sister, but a sister
must at least have confidence in her brother; she must not stand
before him like a sealed book whose contents he is ignorant of. If I
am to be your brother, I demand also the rights of a brother. I demand
truth and trust."

"And who says that I will deny you either?" asked she, quickly.

"You, yourself, Elise; your whole conduct, your shyness and reserve,
the manner in which you avoid me, the intentional coldness with which
you meet me. Oh! even at this moment you would withdraw from me, but I
will not let you, Elise; I will compel your heart to reveal itself to
me. I will move you with my devotion, my tender anxiety, so that the
cruel crust will fall from your gentle and pure heart, and you
will become again my candid and confiding sister. Oh, Elise, have
compassion on me! tell me what secret, mysterious charm has suddenly
seized you; what wicked, hurtful demon has suddenly converted this
bright ingenuous girl into a pale, sad, serious woman. Have courage
and trust me, and let me read as in those happier days."

Elise looked at his noble countenance with a deep and painful emotion,
and met his inquiring look with unabashed eye.

"Well, then," said she, "I will trust you, Bertram. I will tell you
what I have confided to no human ear. Know, then, that my heart also
has felt the pains which affect yours. Know that an ardent, hopeless
love burnt my soul."

"A hopeless love?" asked Bertram.

"Yes, hopeless," said she, firmly; "for never can I hope for my
father's blessing on this love, and never, without it, will I leave my
father's house to follow the man I love."

"The man you love!" cried Bertram, painfully. "Does he also then love
you, and does he know that you love him?"

She looked at him with astonishment. "Can one then love without being
beloved?" asked she, with the unconscious pride of a young girl.

"You are right," s