“Dear Agnes,” I said, “it is presumptuous for me, who am so poor in all in which you are so rich⁠—goodness, resolution, all noble qualities⁠—to doubt or direct you; but you know how much I love you, and how much I owe you. You will never sacrifice yourself to a mistaken sense of duty, Agnes?”

More agitated for a moment than I had ever seen her, she took her hands from me, and moved a step back.

“Say you have no such thought, dear Agnes! Much more than sister! Think of the priceless gift of such a heart as yours, of such a love as yours!”

Oh! long, long afterwards, I saw that face rise up before me, with its momentary look, not wondering, not accusing, not regretting. Oh, long, long afterwards, I saw that look subside, as it did now, into the lovely smile, with which she told me she had no fear for herself⁠—I need have none for her⁠—and parted from me by the name of Brother, and was gone!