She hardly dared trust herself to look at Pierre except by furtive
glances of pride and affection; but as his form and features were
reflected in a shadow of manly beauty in the still pool, she
withdrew not her loving gaze from his shadow, and leaning forward
towards his image,
"A thousand times she kissed him in the brook,
Across the flowers with bashful eyelids down!"
Amelie had royally given her love to Pierre Philibert. She had
given it without stint or measure, and with a depth and strength of
devotion of which more facile natures know nothing.
Pierre, with his burden of golden lilies, came back over the brook
and seated himself beside her; his arm encircled her, and she held
his hand firmly clasped in both of hers.
"Amelie," said he, "I believe now in the power of fate to remove
mountains of difficulty and cast them into the sea. How often,
while watching the stars wheel silently over my head as I lay
pillowed on a stone, while my comrades slumbered round the
campfires, have I repeated my prayer for Amelie de Repentigny! I
had no right to indulge a hope of winning your love; I was but a
rough soldier, very practical, and not at all imaginative.
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