Perfect love casts out fear, and he had
no fear now for Amelie's love, although she had not yet dared to
look at him. But her little hand lay unreprovingly in his,--
nestling like a timid bird which loved to be there, and sought not
to escape. He pressed it gently to his heart; he felt by its
magnetic touch, by that dumb alphabet of love, more eloquent than
spoken words, that he had won the heart of Amelie de Repentigny.
"Pierre," said she,--she wanted to say it was time to rejoin their
companions, but the words would not come. Her face was still half-
averted, and suffused with an unseen blush, as she felt his strong
arm round her; and his breath, how sweet it seemed, fanning her
cheek. She had no power, no will to resist him, as he drew her
close, still closer to his heart.
She trembled, but was happy. No eye saw but God's through the
blessed twilight; and "God will not reprove Pierre Philibert for
loving me," thought she, "and why should I?" She tried, or
simulated, an attempt at soft reproof, as a woman will who fears she
may be thought too fond and too easily won, at the very moment she
is ready to fall down and kiss the feet of the man before her.
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