pale and ghastly; when she had ended,
Answering in a hollow voice:

"'It is true; oh! quite true, Elspie.
Oh! you are always right; oh! what, what, have I been doing?
I will depart to-morrow. But oh! forget me not wholly,
Wholly, Elspie, nor hate me; no, do not hate me, my Elspie.'"

"But a revulsion passed thro' the brain and bosom of Elspie;
And she got up from her seat on the rock, putting by her knitting,
Went to him where he stood, and answered:

"'No, Mr. Philip:
No; you are good, Mr. Philip, and gentle; and I am the foolish:
No, Mr. Philip; forgive me.'

"She stepped right to him, and boldly
Took up his hand, and placed it in her's, he daring no movement;
Took up the cold hanging hand, up-forcing the heavy elbow.
'I am afraid,' she said; 'but I will;' and kissed the fingers.
And he fell on his knees, and kissed her own past counting......
"As he was kissing her fingers, and knelt on the ground before her,
Yielding, backward she sank to her seat, and, of what she was doing
Ignorant, bewildered, in sweet multitudinous vague emotion,
Stooping, knowing not what, put her lips to the curl on his forehead.
And Philip, raising himself, gently, for the first time, round her
Passing his arms, close, close, enfolded her close to his bosom.
"As they went home by the moon, 'Forgive me, Philip,' she whispered:
'I have so many things to talk of all of a sudden,
I who have never once thought a thing in my ignorant Highlands.'"
--pp. 39-44.

We may spare criticism here, for what reader will not have felt such
poetry? There is something in this of the very tenderness of
tenderness; this is true delicacy, fearless and unembarrassed. Here
it seems almost captious to object: perhaps, indeed, it is rather
personal whim than legitimate criticism which makes us take some
exception at "the curl on his forehead;" yet somehow there seems a
hint in it of the pet curate.

Elspie's doubts now return upon her with increased force; and it is
not till after many conversations with the "teacher" that she allows
her resolve to be fixed. So, at last,

"There, upon Saturday eve, in the gorgeous bright October,
Under that alders knitting, gave Elspie her troth to Philip."

And, after their talk, she feels strong again, and fit to be
his.--Then they rise.

"'But we must go, Mr. Philip.'

"'I shall not go at all,' said
He, 'If you call me _Mr._ Thank Heaven! that's well