On the morning I went to her house in town, she took me aside, and spoke to me.

Not a confession in words.

The blood in her cheeks, when I mentioned you, did that for her.

Everything about you she must know--how you bore your grief, and all.

And not in her usual free manner, but timidly, as if she feared a surprise, or feared to be wakened to the secret in her bosom she half suspects--"Tell him!" she said, "I hope he will not forget me."' The Countess was interrupted by a great sob; for the picture of frank Rose Jocelyn changed, and soft, and, as it were, shadowed under a veil of bashful regard for him, so filled the young man with sorrowful tenderness, that he trembled, and was as a child.
Marking the impression she had produced on him, and having worn off that which he had produced on her, the Countess resumed the art in her style of speech, easier to her than nature.
'So the sweetest of Roses may be yours, dear Van; and you have her in a gold setting, to wear on your heart.