when passing it to a favorite little dell, near the water's edge where he and Walter had held many a lively chat and—grave conversation. A fine breeze from the river was well calculated to cool the fevered brow of Rosalind; and the rising moon smiled beneficently on them as if to chase away her disquietude, and breathe over each the holy calm emanating from it's own bosom. Rosalind gazed at it for some moments in silence, apparently unconscious of the still more earnest gaze fixed upon her by the soft, loving eyes of Ernest, whose soul-lit radiance testified of a joy too deep for utterance, as they read in that young, thoughtful face the traces of a kindred sorrow which had bound their two souls in one, and sanctified their love by the consciousness that it was no dream of butterfly existence, but a sober reality in which trials were to be met and endured, as well as blessings shared and enjoyed.
"A faithful watch the moon and stars keep over each other," said she, playfully.
"As faithful as you and I will be to God, and to each other?"
"Oh Ernest, how dare you trust me?"
"Trust you, Rosalind? I have always trusted you, and I always shall!"
