"Will you take faithful care of me? Faithful care! As if that rose should promise to shelter from tempest this hard gray stone! But she _will_ care for me, in her way. These hands will be the gentle ministrants of every comfort I can taste. I know the being I seek to entwine with my own will bring me a solace, a charity, a purity, to which, of myself, I am a stranger."
Suddenly Caroline was troubled; her lip quivered.
"What flutters my dove?" asked Moore, as she nestled to and then uneasily shrank from him.

"Faithful care! As if that rose should promise to shelter from tempest this hard grey stone! But she will care for me, in her way. These hands will gently offer every comfort I can taste. I know she will bring me a solace, a charity, a purity, to which, of myself, I am a stranger."
Suddenly Caroline was troubled; her lip quivered. 