I have often heard of what love--love in its highest and noblest sense--is able to do and to suffer for the good and happiness of its object, but now I know it." She spoke not, or rather she was unable to speak; but as she pulled out her snow-white handkerchief, Reilly could observe the extraordinary tremor of her hands; the face, too, was deadly pale.
"I am not making love to you, Miss Folliard," he added.

"No, my religion, my position in life, a sense of my own unworthiness, would prevent that; but I could not rest unless you knew that there is one heart which, in the midst of unhappiness and despair, can understand, appreciate, and love you.

I urge no claim.

I am without hope." The fair girl (_Cooleen Bawn_) could not restrain her tears; but wept--yes, she wept.

"I was not prepared for this," she replied.