en
asleep; she sat down; laid it on the ground at her side, and continued
reading. The book was one of those which attract persons of delicate
feeling, and afterward will not let them go again. She forgot the time
and the hours; she never thought what a long way round it was by land to
the new house; but she sat lost in her book and in herself, so beautiful
to look at, that the trees and the bushes round her ought to have been
alive, and to have had eyes given them to gaze upon her and admire her.
The sun was sinking; a ruddy streak of light fell upon her from behind,
tinging with gold her cheek and shoulder. Edward, who had made his way
to the lake without being seen, finding his park desolate, and no trace
of human creature to be seen anywhere, went on and on. At last he broke
through the copse behind the oak-tree, and saw her. At the same moment
she saw him. He flew to her, and threw himself at her feet. After a
long, silent pause, in which they both endeavored to collect themselves,
he explained in a few words why and how he had come there. He had sent
the Major to Charlotte; and perhaps at that moment their common destiny
was being decided. Never had he doubted her affection, and she assuredly
had never doubted his. He begged for her consent; she hesitated; he
implored her. He offered to resume his old privilege, and throw his arms
around her, and embrace her; she pointed down to the child.

Edward looked at it, and was amazed. "Great God!" he cried; "if I had
cause to doubt my wife and my friend, this face would witness fearfully
against them. Is not this the very image of the Major? I never saw such
a likeness."

"Indeed!" replied Ottilie; "all the world say it is like me."

"Is it possible?" Edward answered; and at the moment the child opened
its eyes--two large, black, piercing eyes, deep and full of love;
already the little face was full of intelligence. He seemed as if he
knew both the figures which he saw standing before him. Edward threw
himself down beside the child, and then knelt a second time before
Ottilie. "It is you," he cried; "the eyes are yours! ah, but let me look
into yours; let me throw a veil over that ill-starred hour which gave
its being to this little creature. Shall I shock your pure spirit with
the fearful thought, that man and wife who are estranged from each
other, can yet press each other to their heart, and profane the bonds by
which the law unites them by other eager wishes? Oh yes