Her tears fell fast; but they were not like those she had lately shed, and I saw my hope brighten in them.
“Agnes! Ever my guide, and best support! If you had been more mindful of yourself, and less of me, when we grew up here together, I think my heedless fancy never would have wandered from you. But you were so much better than I, so necessary to me in every boyish hope and disappointment, that to have you to confide in, and rely upon in everything, became a second nature, supplanting for the time the first and greater one of loving you as I do!”
Still weeping, but not sadly—joyfully! And clasped in my arms as she had never been, as I had thought she never was to be!
“When I loved Dora—fondly, Agnes, as you know—”
“Yes!” she cried, earnestly. “I am glad to know it!”
“When I loved her—even then, my love would have been incomplete, without your sympathy. I had it, and it was perfected. And when I lost her, Agnes, what should I have been without you, still!”
Closer in my arms, nearer to my heart, her trembling hand upon my shoulder, her sweet eyes shining through her tears, on mine!
“I went away, dear Agnes, loving you. I stayed away, loving you. I returned home, loving you!”
And now, I tried to tell her of the struggle I had had, and the conclusion I had come to. I tried to lay my mind before her, truly, and entirely. I tried to show her how I had hoped I had come into the better