On the day succeeding that on which Lawson left New York, Caroline was taking her morning walk with two or three companions, when she noticed a mark on a certain tree, which she knew as a sign that her lover was in the neighborhood and awaiting her in the secluded glen, half a mile distant, where they had already met.  Feigning to have forgotten something, she ran back, but as soon as she was out of sight of her companions, she glided off with rapid steps in the direction where she expected to find Lawson.  And she was not disappointed.

“Dear Caroline!” he exclaimed, with affected tenderness, drawing his arm about her and kissing her cheek, as he met her.  “How happy I am to see you again!  Oh! it has seemed months since I looked upon your sweet young face.”

“And yet it is only a week since you were here,” returned Caroline, looking at him fondly.

“I cannot bear this separation.  It makes me wretched,” said Lawson.

“And I am miserable,” responded Caroline, with a sigh, and her eyes fell to the ground.  “Miserable,” she repeated.

“I love you, tenderly, devotedly,” said Lawson, as he tightly clasped the hand he had taken:  “and it is my most ardent wish to make you happy.  Oh! why should a parent’s mistaken will interpose between us and our dearest wishes?”

Caroline leaned toward the young man, but did not reply.

“Is there any hope of his being induced to give his consent to—­to—­our—­union?”

“None, I fear,” came from the lips of Caroline in a faint whisper.

“Is he so strongly prejudiced against me?”

“Yes.”

“Then, what are we to do?”

Caroline sighed.

“To meet, hopelessly, is only to make us the more wretched,” said Lawson.  “Better part, and forever, than suffer a martyrdom of affection like this.”

Still closer shrunk the weak and foolish girl to the young man’s side.  She was like a bird in the magic circle of the charmer.

“Caroline,” said Lawson, after another period of silence, and his voice was low, tender and penetrating—­“Are you willing, for my sake, to brave your father’s anger?”

“For your sake, Charles!” replied Caroline, with sudden enthusiasm.  “Yes—­yes.  His anger would be light to the loss of your affection.”

“Bless your true heart!” exclaimed Lawson.  “I knew that I had not trusted it in vain.  And now, my dear girl, let me speak freely of the nature of my present visit.  With you, I believe, that all hope of your father’s consent is vain.  But, he is a man of tender feelings, and loves you as the apple of his eye.”

Thus urged the tempter, and Caroline listened eagerly.

“If,” he continued, “we precipitate a union—­if we put the marriage rite between us and his strong opposition, that opposition will grow weak as a withering leaf.  He cannot turn from you.  He loves you too well.”

Caroline did not answer; but, it needed no words to tell Lawson that he was not urging his wishes in vain.