love and worship for her startled her by its force into a sweet shame, a hesitating fear. She was looking at him with her eyes softly opening and closing, like the eyes of a startled doe, as though the wonder and delight were too great to be taken in at once.
At length she made answer, hesitatingly, "And—this—beautiful—love—is—for—me?"
"It is all for you," he said, tenderly.
"Robert, there is a feeling for you which I think is a part of my soul, but I do not know that it is love. It came to me—this feeling—so long ago that I believe that it has a seven-years' claim. It was far back yonder, when I played at "camping out" under the broad white tents that the dogwoods pitched in the forest. I spent hours and hours in my play making clover chains to reach from my heart to yours—"
Here he interrupted her. "And it did reach me, finding fertile soil in which to grow. Tell me you have kept your part alive."
"I cannot tell yet, I am going to test it. I believe I will imagine you feeling the morning kiss of Miss Baxter, and watching her good-night smile, and see if I would care."
"Please do, but tell me why you said Miss Baxter? Why not any other lady of my acquaintance?"
