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 intimate friends as we have been: but you hardly expect I should tell you?"

"Yes, yes, Cary,—you will tell me: you said we were friends; and friends should always confide in each other."

"But you are sure you won't repeat it?"

"Quite sure."

"Not to Louis?"

"Not even to Louis? What does Louis care for young ladies' secrets?"

"Robert—Shirley is a curious, magnanimous being."

"I daresay: I can imagine there are both odd points and grand points about her."

"I have found her chary in showing her feelings; but when they rush out, river-like, and pass full and powerful before you,—almost without leave from her—you gaze, wonder, you admire, and—I think—love her."

"You saw this spectacle?"

"Yes: at dead of night; when all the house was silent, and starlight, and the cold reflection from the snow glimmered in our chamber,—then I saw Shirley's heart."

"Her heart's core? Do you think she showed you that?"

"Her heart's core."

"And how was it?"

"Like a shrine,—for it was holy; like snow,—for it was pure; like flame,—for it was warm; like death,—for it was strong."

"Can she love? Tell me that."