meet again."

"We think so, and we say so, each time that we part; and yet we meet
again. Once more, only the one time when I am to distinguish myself, to
gain you--only that once will we be parted; and then we will be happy
for over."

"Then you will be killed--or you will be sent to France, or you will
love some one else and forget me--"

"Forgot you!--love some one else! Oh! Heaven and earth!" cried Moyse,
clasping her in his arms, and putting his whole soul into the kisses he
impressed on her forehead. "And what," he continued, in a voice which
thrilled her heart, "what would you do if I were killed?"

"I would die. Oh, Moyse! if it should be so, wait for me! Let your
spirit wait for mine! It shall not be long."

"Shall my spirit come--shall I come as a ghost, to tell you that I am
dead? Shall I come when you are alone, and call you away?"

"Oh! no, no!" she cried, shuddering. "I will follow--you need not fear.
But a ghost--oh! no, no!" And she looked up at him, and clasped him
closer.

"And why?" said Moyse. "You do not fear me now--you cling to me. And
why fear me then? I shall be yours still. I shall be Moyse. I shall
be about you, haunting you, whether you see and hear me or not. Why not
see and hear me?"

"Why not?" said Genifrede, in a tone of assent. "But I dare not--I will
not. You shall not die. Do not speak of it."

"It was not I, but you, love, that spoke of it. Well, I will not die.
But tell me--if I forget you--if I love another--what then?" And he
looked upon her with eyes so full of love, that she laughed, and
withdrew herself from his arms, saying, as she sauntered on along the
blossom-strewn path--

"Then I will forget you too."

Moyse lingered for a moment, to watch her stately form, as she made a
pathway for herself amidst the tangled shrubs. The walk, once a
smooth-shaven turf, kept green by trenches of water, was now overgrown
with the vegetation which encroached on either hand. As the dark beauty
forced her way, the maypole-aloe shook its yellow crown of flowers, many
feet above her head; the lilac jessamine danced before her face; and the
white datura, the pink flower-fence, and the scarlet cordia, closed
round her form, or spread themselves beneath her feet. Her lover was
soon again by her side, warding off every branch and spray, and saying--

"The very flowers worship you: but they and all--all must yield you to
me. You are mine; and yet not mine till