independence in another way. It will be a comfort to me to think of this, when I can no longer see, no longer hear her,—when I am far away! Oh, that child! that child!”
He covered his face with his hands, and I perceived that he wept.
“Waldo!” I said, deeply affected, “you are magnanimous. And yourself?—”
“I—I shall die unmarried. I am accustomed to solitude—to the solitude of the heart! In my childhood I was lonely, and felt it bitterly. Then came the business and interests of active life, and engaged my attention, so that I forgot the emptiness in my heart and home. I once believed that I loved, and that I was loved in return; but I found myself deceived, and resolved never more to seek for happiness in a woman's love. I then met with this child, and, for the first time, I have loved with my whole soul, with my whole heart. Yes, I have worshiped her, that young woman, that wonderful child. I fancied myself quite certain of making her happy. I fancied that we were suited to each other; and this love, and this desire to live for her, made me young again. Perhaps it was a self-deception; perhaps I am too old for her! She is so young, so much a child still. How, indeed, can Autumn be united to Spring?—Well, well; this folly, this dream is over. The evening of my life will not be gay; but neither will it be gloomy. I can work,——But I must make an end. It is now late. Tell her that I love her, that I always shall love her, and that she will see me again as an old man, when she is a blooming, happy wife and mo-
- Vol. II.—28
