"Uncle Julien," she murmured, as she faintly extended her hand towards
him, "thou wilt not refuse to clasp hands with one who has so loved
thy Marie! And thou, Arthur, oh! scorn him not. Without him the
invisible dungeons of the Inquisition would have been my grave, and
thine that of a dishonored knight and suspected murderer."
The eyes of her companions met, and their hands were grasped in that
firm pressure, betraying unity of feeling, and reciprocal esteem,
which need no words.
"Raise me a little, dearest Arthur; uncle Julien" put back that
spreading bough. I would say something more, and the fresher air may
give me strength. Ah! the evening breeze is so fresh and sweet; it
always makes me feel as if the spirits of those we loved were hovering
near us. We hold much closer and dearer communion with the beloved
dead in the calm twilight than in the garish day. Arthur, dearest,
thou wilt think of me sometimes in an hour like this."
"When shall I not think of thee?" he passionately rejoined. "Oh,
Marie, Marie! I thought separation on earth the worst agony that could
befall me; but what--what is it compared to the eternal one of death?"
"No, no, not eternal, Arthur. In heaven I feel there is no distinction
of creed or faith; we shall all love God and one another there, and
earth's fearful distinctions can never come between us.
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