EUGENE ARAM.
117
CHAPTER XIII.
THE SISTERS ALONE.—THE GOSSIP OF LOVE.—AN ALARM—AND AN EVENT.
Juliet.— My true love is grown to such excess,
I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth.
Eros.—Oh, a man in arms;
His weapon drawn, too!—The False One.
It was a custom with the two sisters, when they repaired to their chamber for the night, to sit conversing, sometimes even for hours, before they finally retired to bed. This indeed was the usual time for their little confidences, and their mutual dilations over those hopes and plans for the future, which always occupy the larger share of the thoughts and conversation of the young. I do not know any thing in the world more lovely
