“I will forgive your obstinacy because you desire it, and not because I am satisfied.  Do you know, brother,” said she, with a playful smile, “that I suspect you are in love?”

This raillery was intended to have been uttered with a pert archness; but the crimson cheek and tremulous lips entirely defeated the intention.

“Fie, sister!  You are jesting now, yourself,” replied Henry, with what was intended for a smile, but which, like his assailant’s archness, was a signal failure.

Both parties were now in the most unfortunate position imaginable.  Neither dared to speak, for fear of disclosing their emotions.  Both felt the awkwardness of the silence, and both felt the danger of breaking it.  Henry twirled the tassel of the window drapery, and Emily twisted her pocket-handkerchief into every conceivable shape.  Henry was the first to gather fortitude enough to venture a remark.

“I must leave you, sister, now that, for the first time, the relation is acknowledged.  I assure you, however, that I appreciate the sisterly kindness you have always lavished upon me.  And I shall always remember this visit as the happiest period of my life.”

“Then I may hope you will often repeat it,” replied Emily, sadly.

“However pleasant it would be for me to do so, I fear my duty will be a barrier to my inclination.  My future post, you are aware, is Newport.”

“And you depart so suddenly, and then seem inclined to make your absence perpetual!  But we shall see you where-ever you are.  We go to Newport this season, if father’s health will permit,” returned Emily, with a playful pout.

“I would stay by you,—­that is, I would stay at Bellevue forever,—­if my duty to your father—­I mean to my country—­would permit,” stammered Henry, much agitated, as he rose to depart.

“I must go and bid farewell to your father,” continued he, taking her hand, which he perceived trembled violently, in his own; “and I trust you will remember your absent brother—­” kindly, he was about to say, but Emily, attempting to rise, was overpowered by the emotions which she had vainly striven to suppress, and sunk back in a swoon.

Henry summoned assistance, and applied the usual restoratives, but he did not again venture to address her; and, as her pale features exhibited signs of returning consciousness, he hurried from the room.

As the hour of his departure drew near, he bade an affectionate farewell to Colonel Dumont, who was confined to his room by illness.  His kind friend used many entreaties for him to prolong his stay, but Henry pleaded his duty, and that the dying request of a brother officer required him to take a journey into Georgia, which would consume some three or four weeks’ time.  He intended to go to his future station by the way of the Mississippi, and promised that, if any time were left him on his return, he would again visit Bellevue.  This, however, he thought was improbable.