“I think as you do.”  Not that there was any weak compliance for the sake of agreement, but a unison of thought and feeling between them which gave a pleasurable zest to their companionship.

“Miss Annette,” said Luzerne, “do you believe that matches are made in heaven?”

“I never thought anything about it.”

“But have you no theory on the subject?”

“Not the least; have you?”

“Yes; I think that every human soul has its counterpart, and is never satisfied till soul has met with soul and recognized its spiritual affinity.”

“Affinity!  I hate the word.”

“Why?”

“Because I think it has been so wrongly used, and added to the social misery of the world.”

“What do you think marriage ought to be?”

“I think it should be a blending of hearts, an intercommunion of souls, a tie that only love and truth should weave, and nothing but death should part.”

Luzerne listened eagerly and said, “Why, Miss Annette, you speak as if you had either loved or were using your fine imaginative powers on the subject with good effect.  Have you ever loved any one?”

Annette blushed and stammered, and said, “I hardly know, but I think I have a fine idea of what love should be.  I think the love of a woman for the companion of her future life should go out to him just as naturally as the waves leap to the strand, or the fire ascends to the sun.”

“And this,” said Luzerne, taking her hand in his, “is the way I feel towards you.  Surely our souls have met at last.  Annette,” said he, in a voice full of emotion, “is it not so?  May I not look on your hand as a precious possession, to hold till death us do part?”

“Why, Mr. Luzerne,” said Annette, recovering from her surprise, “this is so sudden, I hardly know what to say.  I have enjoyed your companionship and I confess have been pleased with your attentions, but I did not dream that you had any intentions beyond the enjoyment of the hour.”

“No, Annette, I never seek amusement in toying with human hearts.  I should deem myself a villain if I came into your house and stole your purse, and I should think myself no better if I entered the citadel of a woman’s heart to steal her affections only to waste their wealth.  Her stolen money I might restore, but what reparation could I make for wasted love and blighted affections?  Annette, let there be truth between us.  I will give you time to think on my proposal, hoping at the same time that I shall find favor in your eyes.”

After Mr. Luzerne left, Annette, sat alone by the fireside, a delicious sense of happiness filling her soul with sudden joy.  Could it be that this handsome and dignified man had honored her above all the girls in A.P., by laying his heart at her feet, or was it only a dream from which would come a rude awakening?  Annette looked in the glass, but no stretch of imagination could make her conceive that she was beautiful in