have brought a chaplain of our
Church with me, to bless our union. You see, my beloved, that every
thing is ready, and all that is wanting is the wreath of myrtle in
your hair."

"And the blessing of my father," she replied solemnly.

Feeder's brow darkened and an angry expression flashed across
his countenance. Elise did not perceive it, for, in her noble
forgetfulness of self, she had leaned her head on his breast, and all
doubt and distrust were alien to her free and confiding love. The love
of a woman is of divine nature; it forgives all, it suffers all; it is
as strong in giving as in forgiving. Every woman when she loves is
an inspired poetess; the divine frenzy has seized her, and poetic
utterances of ecstasy issue from her trembling lips. This poor girl,
too, had become inspired. Confidingly happy, she reposed on the breast
of the man whom she had never ceased to love, whom she had blest in
the midst of her bitterest tears, whom she had prayed for, earnestly
entreating God to have mercy on him.

"Do you go to your father," said Feodor, after a pause. "Pray for
his consent and his blessing on both of us--I hasten to prepare every
thing. Tell your father that my whole life shall be spent in the
endeavor to redeem every tear you have shed for me with a smile; that
I will love him as a son to whom he has given the dearest treasure of
life, his Elise."

He pressed her to his heart and kissed her forehead. Elise raised her
face from his breast, and smiled on him with loving emotion. But he
placed his hands over her eyes; he was not callous enough to be able
to bear those innocent, yielding, tender looks.

"I must be gone," he said. "But this shall be our last separation,
and when I return, it shall be to lead you to the altar. In an hour,
dearest, you must be ready. At the end of that time, I will come to
take you to St. Petersburg, and present you at the empress's court as
my bride, the Princess Stratimojeff."

He looked down at her with an air of triumph, to see what impression
his words would have on her. He had expected to prepare a pleasurable
surprise for her with the princely title--to see her blush with proud
satisfaction. But Elise felt neither elevated nor honored by the high
rank. What did she care whether Feodor was a prince or a poor officer,
so that he only loved her, and would never again forsake her?

She replied, with some surprise, "Princess Stratimojeff! What does
that mean?"

"For three