"Oh, happy love, where love like this is found!
Oh, heart-felt raptures, bliss beyond compare!
I've paced this weary mortal round,
And sage experience bids me this declare,
If heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare,
One cordial in this melancholy vale,
'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair
In other's arms breathe out the tender tale,
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale."
Donald and Minnie had grown up together. They had shared in the social
life of the village. They had been to little parties together. They had
gone to the same church, sat in the same pew, sang the psalms from the
same book. They had walked out together in the summer evenings, and both
had felt the influence of the white moonlight which steeped the trees
along the Marsden road. They had, so to say, appropriated each other,
and yet there had been no word of love between them. They had spoken
freely to each other; their hands had touched, and both had thrilled at
the contact, and yet they were only friends! The village had settled it
that they were lovers and that they would be married, and felt satisfied
with its own decision, because both were popular.
It was a summer afternoon, and they were in the woods together. Minnie
had a basket for wild strawberries. None had been gathered. They were
seated at the trunk of a tree. Donald had told her that he thought of
leaving the country, and she felt stunned. Her heart stopped. She became
as pale as death.
"Yes, Minnie," he said, "I am tired of this life. I want away. I want to
push my fortune. What is there here for me? What future is there for me?
I want to go to the States. I can get along there. This life is too dull
and narrow, and all the young fellows have left."
"Perhaps I feel too that it is a little dull, Donald," Minnie said, "but
not being a man, I suppose desires like yours would seem improper When
you go," and her voice trembled a little, "I will feel the dullness all
the more keenly."
"And do you think it will not cost me an effort to sever our
friendship?" Donald said with emotion; "we have been playmates in
childhood and friends in riper years. I have been so accustomed to you
that to leave you will seem like moving into darkness out of sunlight.
Minnie," he went on, taking her hand, and speaking with fervor, "can
we only be friends? We say that we are friends; but in my heart I have
always loved you. When I began to love you I know not. I feel now that I
cannot leave without telling you. Yes, Minnie, I love you, and you only;
and it was the hope of bettering my prospects only to ask you to share
them, that induced me to think of leaving. But I cannot leave without
letting you know what I feel. Just be frank with me, and tell me, do you
return my love? I cannot see your face. What! tears! Minnie, Minnie, my
darling, you do care a little for me!"
She could not look at him, for tears blinded her, but she said, simply,
"Oh, Donald, I have loved you since childhood."
"My own dear Minnie!" He caught her to his breast, and kissed her sweet
mouth, her cheek, her hands and hair. He took off her summer hat, and
smoothed her golden tresses; he pressed his lips to her white forehead,
and called her his darling, his sweet Minnie.
Minnie lay in his arms sobbing, and trembling violently. The restraint
she had imposed on herself was now broken down, and she gave way to the
natural feelings of her heart. She had received the first kisses of
love. She was thrilled with delight and vague alarm.
"Don't tremble, darling," he said, after a long silence.
"Oh, Donald, I can't help it. What is this feeling? What does it mean?"
It was unconscious passion!