A love-token!--shrink not, ye rays; there is something akin to you in love.

But see,--the hand closes convulsively on the flower; it hides it not in the breast; it lifts it not to the lip: it throws it passionately aside.

"How long!" muttered the girl, impetuously,--"how long! And to think that will here cannot shorten an hour!" Then she rose, and walked to and fro, and each time she gained a certain niche in the chamber she paused, and then irresolutely passed on again.

What is in that niche?
Only books.

What can books teach thee, pale girl?
The step treads firmer; this time it halts more resolved.