“‘It means Fate,—­Destiny!’ he exclaimed, rather wildly.  ’Ah, Eunice, ask the night, and the moon,—­ask the impulse which told you to follow me!  Let us be candid, like the old Arcadians we imitate.  Eunice, we know that we love each other:  why should we conceal it any longer?  The Angel of Love comes down from the stars on his azure wings, and whispers to our hearts.  Let us confess to each other!  The female heart should not be timid, in this pure and beautiful atmosphere of Love which we breathe.  Come, Eunice! we are alone:  let your heart speak to me!’

“Ned, if you’ve ever been in love, (we’ll talk of that, after a while,) you will easily understand what tortures I endured, in thus hearing him speak.  That he should love Eunice!  It was a profanation to her, an outrage to me.  Yet the assurance with which he spoke! Could she love this conceited, ridiculous, repulsive fellow, after all?  I almost gasped for breath, as I clinched the prickly boughs of the cedars in my hands, and set my teeth, waiting to hear her answer.

“‘I will not hear such language!  Take me back to the shore!’ she said, in very short, decided tones.

“‘Oh, Eunice,’ he groaned, (and now, I think, he was perfectly sober,) ’don’t you love me, indeed? I love you,—­from my heart I do:  yes, I love you.  Tell me how you feel towards me.’

“‘Abel,’ said she, earnestly, ’I feel towards you only as a friend; and if you wish me to retain a friendly interest in you, you must never again talk in this manner.  I do not love you, and I never shall.  Let me go back to the house.

“His head dropped upon his breast, but he rowed back to the shore, drew the bow upon the rocks, and assisted her to land.  Then, sitting down, he groaned forth,—­

“‘Oh, Eunice, you have broken my heart!’ and putting his big hands to his face, began to cry.

“She turned, placed one hand on his shoulder, and said, in a calm, but kind tone,—­

“‘I am very sorry, Abel, but I cannot help it.’

“I slipped aside, that she might not see me, and we returned by separate paths.

“I slept very little that night.  The conviction, which I had chased away from my mind as often as it returned, that our Arcadian experiment was taking a ridiculous and at the same time impracticable development, became clearer and stronger.  I felt sure that our little community could not hold together much longer without an explosion.  I had a presentiment that Eunice shared my impressions.  My feelings towards her had reached that crisis where a declaration was imperative:  but how to make it?  It was a terrible struggle between my shyness and my affection.  There was another circumstance, in connection with this subject, which troubled me not a little.  Miss Ringtop evidently sought my company, and made me, as much as possible, the recipient of her sentimental outpourings.  I was not bold enough to repel her,—­indeed,