of
her hand. I want my beautiful, proud, pure, stately white rose. I want
my Beryl. I will have my own."

He had risen, stood before her; took the hands that veiled her
countenance, and drew her to her feet.

"You have been loyal to parents, to brother, to friends, to duty; be
loyal now to your own heart; answer me truly. What did you mean when
you once said, with a mournful pathos I cannot forget: 'We love not
always whom we should, or would, were choice permitted us?' You defied
me that day, and prayed God to bless your lover; taunted me with words
that have made days dreary, nights hideous: 'To whom I have given my
whole deep heart, you shall never know.' Did you mean--ah--will you
tell me now?"

She bent her head till it almost touched him, but no answer came.

"You will not? I swear you shall; else I shall hope, believe, know
beyond all doubt, that during these years, I have not been the only
sufferer; and that loyal as was your soul, your rebel heart is as truly
mine, as all my deathless love is surely yours."

She tried to withdraw her hands; but his hold tightened, and infinite
exultation rang in his voice.

"My darling! My darling--you dare not deny it? I shall wear my white
rose to make all the future sweet with a blessed love; but have you no
word of assurance for my hungry ears? Is my darling too proud?"

He raised her hands, laid her arms around his neck, and folded very
close to his heart, the long coveted prize.

"My Beryl, it was a stubborn battle, but Lennox Dunbar claims his own;
and will hold her safe forever. Will you be loyal to your tyrant?"

Was it a white or a crimson rose that hid its lovely petals against his
shoulder, and whispered with lips that his kiss had rouged:

"Have I ever been allowed a choice? Was I not foredoomed to be always
at the mercy of Tiberius?"

The little garden was growing dusky, the gilded mist waving its
spectral banners over the thundering cataract, had whitened as the sun
went down behind the wooded crest that barred the western sky line; and
the shimmering gold on the heaving, whirling current of the Rapids
faded to leaden tints, flecked with foam, as like a maddened suitor,
parted by Goat Island from its beloved, it rushed to plunge into the
abyss, where the silvery bridal veil shook her signal, and all the
roaring gorge filled with purple gloom.

Mr. Dunbar drew his companion's hand under his arm, and led her toward
the Clifton House.

"You and I h