both risen—"I am conscious of your good intention—of the honour you do me—but I must have time to think. Good-bye!"
She held out her hand. I pressed it gently—I dared not do more—true love is very timid at times!—She bowed to me, and moved off.
A sudden flood of despair rushed over me—the pain of the days when I thought I had lost her could not be soon forgotten, and I feared that I might lose her again.
"Stay, Norah!—stay one moment!" She stopped and turned round. "I may see you again, may I not? Do not be cruel!—may I not see you again?"
A sweet smile lit up the perplexed sadness of her face:—
"You may meet me here to-morrow evening, if you will," and she was gone.
To-morrow evening! Then there was hope; and with gladdened heart I watched her pass across the pasture and ascend a path over the rocks. Her movements were incarnate grace; her beauty and her sweet presence filled the earth and air. When she passed from my sight, the sunlight seemed to pale and the warm air to grow chill.
For a long while I sat on that table-rock, and my thoughts were of heavenly sweetness—all, save one which was of earth—one brooding fear that all might not be well—some danger I did not understand.
And then I too arose, and took my way across the
