“Have I done wrong, or is it right?”

Oh! what strange thoughts came over me as I sat growing more and more convinced that Louis’ talk to me was a boyish rhapsody, and yet I knew then, as I had before known, that my own heart was touched by his presence.  If he had been older, I should have felt that heaven had opened; as it was, I longed to be full of hope and to dream of days to be, and still I feared and I said aloud, “I am afraid, oh, I am afraid!” and at that moment Louis stood before me, and in quiet tones spoke as one having authority: 

“Emily, you will get cold, you should not sit here.”

And as I rose the moonbeams fell on my tear-stained face, and he said as if I were the merest child: 

“Why do you fear I shall ever be different toward you; but you need not feel bound even though you have said you will love me.”

“Louis,” I cried, “you are cruel; you trouble me; I can’t tell how I feel at all,” and then realizing his last sentence I took off the ring, but ere I could speak he put it back, saying: 

“No, no, Emily.  I will wait one year, and then if you are afraid I will go away; but keep the ring, for that is yours, and yours alone.”

I went up to my little room without bidding any one “good-night,” and thought those old three words right over, “Emily did it.”  I had covered myself up because I dared not be known, and if, after all, it was right, how good it would be to be loved by one capable of such wondrous love as he possessed.

I dreamed all night that I was alone and ill, and in the morning I dreaded to meet Louis, but he gave no sign of any troubled thought, and when the stage came was ready with his bright “good-bye.”  He folded his little mother to his heart and held her there for a few seconds.  When he came to me his hand’s grasp was firm and strong.  His kiss and whisper came together, “I will write.”  A moment later and he had gone.  Clara went to her own room, to cry a little softly as she afterward said, and so the time wore on till the evening found us again all around the table, and old grey Timothy, our cat, had the boldness to sit in Louis’ chair, which made Clara laugh through her tears.  Joy and sorrow go hand in hand, and while we felt his loss so keenly, his letters were a great pleasure.

Hal had his share as well as Clara and I, and mother used to read every one of Hal’s.  It seemed strange to me to have anything to keep from mother, and had she opened the door I would have told her all, but she never asked me about Louis’ letters, and until I overheard a conversation between my father and her I was held in silence; then the ice was broken, for father said: 

“I do not know what to do.  It is possible that this bright young fellow will play the part that so many do, and our innocent Emily be made the sufferer.  When he comes again we will try and manage to have her away.  She is a good girl and capable beside.  Her life must not be blighted, but we must also be careful not to hurt Clara’s feelings.  Clara is a good little woman, and how we should miss her if she left us!”