THE SMUGGLER. 29 1 



had the right to do so more frequently in those days than at 

 i the present time. But it was to the face that Edith's eyes 

 f were turned : to the countenance well known and deeply loved, 

 i Changed though it was, grave where it had been gay, pale 



where it had been florid, sterner in the lines, once so full of 

 gentle youth, still all the features were there, and the expres- 

 1 sion, too, though saddened, was the same. 



He gazed on her with a look full of tenderness and love; 

 J and their eyes met. On both of them the feelings of other 

 years seemed to rush with overpowering force. The interval 

 i which had since occurred, for a moment, was annihilated ; the 

 Iheart went back with the rapid wing of memory to the hours 

 1 of joy that were gone, and Layton opened wide his arms, ex- 

 claiming, "Edith! Edith!" 



She could not resist. She had no power to struggle. Love, 

 i stronger than herself, was master; and, starting up, she cast 

 3 herself upon his bosom, and there wept. 



" Dear, dear girl!" he said, "then you love me still; then 

 i Digby's assurance is true ; then you have not forgotten poor 

 Harry Layton; then his persevering hope, his long endurance, 

 i his unwavering love, his efforts, his success, have not been all 

 t in vain! Dear, dear Edith ! This hour repays me for all, 

 ' for all. Dangers and adversities, and wounds, and anguish of 

 } body and of mind, and sleepless nights, and days of bitter 

 ^ thought, I would endure them all. All? ay, tenfold all, for 

 Uhis one hour!" and he pressed her closer and closer to his 

 1 heart. 



"Nay, Harry; nay," cried Edith, still clinging to him; 



"but hear me, hear me, or if you speak such words of tender- 

 ness you will break my heart, or drive me mad." 



".Good heaven!" exclaimed Layton, unclasping his arms, 

 "what is it that you say? Edith, my Edith; my own, my 

 vowed, my bride! But now you seemed to share the joy you 

 gave: to love, as you are loved; and now " 



" I do love you: oh! I do love you!" cried Edith, vehe- 

 mently; "add not a doubt of that to all I suffer. Ever, ever 

 have I loved you, without change, without thought of change. 

 But yet, but yet : I may have fancied that you have forgotten 

 me; I may have thought it strange that you did not write; 

 that my letters remained unanswered; but still I loved, still I 

 have been true to you." 



