She trembled, but was happy. No eye saw but God's through the blessed twilight; and "God will not reprove Pierre Philibert for loving me," thought she, "and why should I?" She tried, or simulated, an attempt at soft reproof, as a woman will who fears she may be thought too fond and too easily won, at the very moment she is ready to fall down and kiss the feet of the man before her.
"Pierre," said she, "it is time we rejoin our companions; they will remark our absence. We will go."
But she still sat there, and made no effort to go. A gossamer thread could have held her there forever, and how could she put aside the strong arm that was mightier than her own will?
Pierre spoke now; the feelings so long pent up burst forth in a torrent that swept away every bond of restraint but that of love's own laws.
He placed his hand tenderly on her cheek, and turned her glowing face full towards him. Still she dared not look up. She knew well what he was going to say. She might control her words, but not her tell-tale eyes. She felt a wild joy flashing and leaping in her bosom, which no art could conceal, should she look up at this moment in the face of Pierre Philibert.
"Amelie," said he, after a pause, "turn those dear eyes, and see and believe in the truth of mine! No words can express how much I do love you!"
She gave a start of joy,--not of surprise, for she knew he loved her. But the avowal of Pierre Philibert's love lifted at once the veil from her own feelings. She raised her dark, impassioned eyes to his, and their souls met and embraced in one look both of recognition and bliss. She spake not, but unconsciously nestled closer to his breast, faltering out some inarticulate words of tenderness.
"Amelie," continued he, straining her still harder to his heart, "your love is all I ask of Heaven and of you. Give me that. I must have it, or live henceforth a man forlorn in the wide world. Oh, say, darling, can you, do you care for me?"
"Yes, indeed I do!" replied she, laying her arm over his neck, as if drawing him towards her with a timid movement, while he stooped and kissed her sweet mouth and eyes in an ecstasy of passionate joy.
She abandoned herself for a moment to her excess of bliss. "Kiss me, darling!" said he; and she kissed him more than once, to express her own great love and assure him that it was all his own.
They sat in silence for some minutes; her cheek lay upon his, as she breathed his name with many fond, faltering expressions of tenderness.
He felt her tears upon his face. "You weep, Amelie," said he, starting up and looking at her cheeks and eyes suffused with moisture.
"I do," said she, "but it is for joy! Oh, Pierre Philibert, I am so happy! Let me weep now; I will laugh soon. Forgive me if I have confessed too readily how much I love you."
"Forgive you! 'tis I need forgiveness; impetuous that I am to have forced this confession from you to-night. Those blessed words, 'Yes, indeed I do,'--God's finger has written them on my heart forever. Never will I forsake the dear lips which spake them, nor fail in all loving duty and affection to you, my Amelie, to the end of my life."
"Of both our lives, Pierre," replied she; "I can imagine no life, only death, separated from you. In thought you have always been with me from the beginning; my life and yours are henceforth one."
He gave a start of joy, "And you loved me before, Amelie!" exclaimed he.
"Ever and always; but irrevocably since that day of terror and joy when you saved the life of Le Gardeur, and I vowed to pray for you to the end of my life."
"And during these long years in the Convent, Amelie,--when we seemed utterly forgotten to each other?"
"You were not forgotten by me, Pierre! I prayed for you then,-- earnest prayers for your safety and happiness, never hoping for more; least of all anticipating such a moment of bliss as the present. Oh, my Pierre, do not think me bold! You give me the right to love you without shame by the avowal of your love to me."
"Amelie!" exclaimed he, kissing her in an ecstasy of joy and admiration, "what have I done--what can I ever do, to merit or recompense such condescension as your dear words express?"
"Love me, Pierre! Always love me! That is my reward. That is all I ask, all my utmost imagination could desire."
"And this little hand, Amelie, will be forever mine?"
"Forever, Pierre, and the heart along with it."