"Well, indeed I will; so now let me go."
"Oh no! I am afraid that when you get out of sight you will play truant.

You must give me security."
"Well, Louisa, what security shall I give you?"

"Why you must give me that thing, whatever it be, that you hold most dear
in all the world."

"Well done! and now, Louisa, I give you yourself, the dearest thing
God ever gave me in all this world."

At this her fine face was reddened all over with blushing joy,
while her love-sparkling eyes, beaming on his, awakened that transport

which those who have felt it would not exchange for worlds. Then,
after the fond, lengthened kiss, and tender sigh of happy lovers parting,

he rode off.
Soon as he was out of her sight, she turned to go to the house.

As she passed along the garden, the sudden fancy struck her
to adorn the summer house with evergreens and flowers of the liveliest tints,

and there, amidst a wilderness of sweets, to receive her returning lover.
Animated with this fond suggestion of conjugal affection, (woman's true life,)

which at every quickened pulse diffused an answering rapture
through the virtuous breast, she commenced her pleasing task;

and with her task she mingled the music of her voice, clear and strong
as the morning lark, and sweet as from a heart full of innocence and love.

The pleasant sounds reached the ear of Marion, as he drew near the garden.
Then, entering the gate without noise, he walked up, unperceived, close to her

as she sat all alone in the arbour, binding her fragrant flowers
and singing the happy hours away. She was singing her favorite hymn,

by Madam Guyon.
"That love I sing, that wondrous love,

Which wak'd my sleeping clay;
That spread the sky in azure bright

And pour'd the golden day," &c. &c.
To see youth and beauty, though in a stranger, thus pointing to heaven,

is delightful to a pious heart. Then what rapture to an enlightened soul
to see a beloved wife thus communing with God, and becoming every day

more and more angelic!
Soon as her song was finished, he called out, "Louisa!"

Startled at the sudden call, she turned around to the well-known voice,
presenting a face on which love and sweet surprise had spread

those rosy charms, which in a moment banished all his sorrows.
"My dearest Gabriel," she exclaimed, dropping her flowers, and running

and throwing herself into his arms, "here, take back your security!
take back your security! and also my thanks for being such a man of honor.

But what brought you back, love, so much earlier than you expected?"
Here the memory of that fatal letter went like a dagger to his heart,

bleaching his manly cheeks.
He would have evaded the question; but in vain, for Louisa,

startled at the sudden paleness of his looks, insisted the more earnestly
to know the cause.

He delayed a moment, but conscious that the secret must soon come out,
he took the letter from his pocket, and with a reluctant hand

put it into hers.
Scarcely had she run through it, which she did with the most devouring haste,

when she let it drop from her hands, and faintly articulating,
"Ah, cruel priest!" she fell upon his bosom, which she bathed with her tears.

After some moments of distress too big for utterance, Marion, deeply sighing,
at length broke silence.

"Ah, Louisa! and must we part so soon!"
At this, starting up with eyes suffused with tears but beamingimmortal love,

she hastily replied -- "Part!"
"Yes!" continued he, "part! for ever part!"

"No, Marion, no! never! never!"
"Ah! can you, Louisa, leave father and mother, and follow

a poor banished husband like me?"
"Yes -- yes -- father, mother, and all the world will I leave

to follow thee, Marion!"
"O blessedpriest, I thank you! Good bishop Rochelle, holy father in God,

I thank you -- your persecution has enriched me above princes.
It has discovered to me a mine of love in Louisa's soul,

that I never dreamed of before."
"My dearest Gabriel, did you ever doubt my love?"

"Pardon me, my love, I never doubted your love, Oh no! I knew you loved me.
The circumstances under which you married me gave me delicious proof of that.

To have preferred me to so many wealthier wooers -- to have taken me
as a husband to the paradise of your arms, when so many others

would have sent me as a heretic to the purgatory of the inquisition,
was evidence of love never to be forgotten; but that in addition to all this

you should now be so ready to leave father and mother, country and kin,
to follow me, a poor wanderer in the earth, without even a place

where to lay my head ----"
"Yes, yes," replied she, eagerly interrupting him, "that's the very reason

I would leave all to follow you. For, oh my love! how could I enjoy
father or mother, country or kin, and you a wanderer in the earth,

without a place whereon to lay your head! That single thought
would cover my days with darkness, and drive me to distraction.

But give me your company, my Gabriel, and then welcome that foreign land with
all its shady forests! Welcome the thatched cottage and the little garden

filled with the fruits of our own fondly mingled toils! Methinks, my love,
I already see that distant sun rising with gladsome beams

on our dew-spangled flowers. I hear the wild wood-birds
pouring their sprightly carols on the sweet-scented morning.

My heart leaps with joy to their songs. Then, O my husband! if we must go,
let us go without a sigh. God can order it for our good.

And, on my account, you shall cast no lingering look behind.
I am ready to follow you wherever you go. Your God shall be my God.

Where you live I will live, and where you die, there will I die,
and will be buried by your side. Nothing my beloved, but death,

shall ever part me from you."
"Angelic Louisa!" cried Marion, snatching her to his bosom in transports --

"Wondrous woman! what do I not owe to God, ever blessed, for such a comforter!
I came just now from Rochelle with the load of a mountain on my heart.

You have taken off that mountain, and substituted a joy
most lightsome and heavenly. Like a ministering angel,

you have confirmed me in duty; you have ended my struggles --
and by so cheerfullyoffering to forsake all and follow me,

you have displayed a love, dear Louisa, which will, I trust,
render you next to my God, the eternal complacency and delight of my soul."

In the midst of this tender scene, a servant came running to inform Louisa
that her mother, Madame D'Aubrey, had just arrived, and was coming to her

in the garden. This startled our lovers into a painful expectation
of another trial. For as Louisa was an only daughter, and her parents

dotingly fond of her, it was not to be imagined that they would give her up
without a hard struggle. Seeing the old lady coming down the walk

towards them, they endeavored to adjust their looks, and to meet her
with the wonted smile. But in vain. The tumult in their bosoms

was still too visible in their looks to escape her discernment.
She eagerly asked the cause. Their changing countenances

served but to increase her fears and the vehemence of her curiosity.
The bishop's letter was put into her hands. Its effects on the good old lady

were truly distressing. Not having, like her daughter, the vigor of youth,
nor the fervors of love to support her, she was almost overcome.

Soon as her spirits were a little recovered, she insisted
that her daughter and son-in-law should instantly step into her coach

and go home with her. "Your father, my dear," said she to Louisa,
"your father, Monsieur D'Aubrey, will, I am certain, do something for us."

But in this she was woefully mistaken, for Monsieur D'Aubrey
was one of that blind sort who place all their religion in forms and notions.

He could smile and look very fond upon a man, though not over moral,
provided that man went to his church -- praised his preacher and opinions,

and abused everybody else; but would look very sour on the best man on earth
who differed from him in those things. In short, he was destitute of love,

the sole life of religion. And though on account of his wife's importunities
and his daughter's repose, he had consented to her marriage with Marion,

yet he never liked the young `heretic', and therefore he read