le holds the sweetness of a great
mystery. They both smile, and he kisses her again. Why not? There is no
one about.

"My darling, can you guess when I first began to love you?" He wants her
to know all the story. It seems as if his whole life will not be long
enough to get it told and he must begin at once.

"When?" There is a startled sound in her voice, as if she was amazed
that love had a beginning.

"That night in the dance,--the Spanish dance. We will go somewhere this
winter and dance it over again; and the music beats will say--'I love
you.'"

"Oh, so long ago?" she exclaims.

"Yes; and I have a visiting-card of yours." He hunts in his card-case.
"Here it is--'Miss Nan Underhill.' I've kissed it thousands of times. I
have almost worn it out. And when I went home I told my father about the
little girl in New York that I must come back and win."

"Oh, did you!" She is touched by the revelation.

"He is a delightful father. Some time I must take you over to see him,
or he may come here. But he had promised that I should go to Ebberfeld;
and so I did. The aunt had proposed the match."

"And your poor cousin!" Her voice is full of such infinite pity that he
gives the little hand a tender pressure for thanks.

"I couldn't have loved her anyhow. She seems older than I; and I am a
very boy in heart. Then she was too large. I like little women."

"I am so glad," she cries, with unaffected joy, "for I am small; and I
never can grow any larger. But I don't mind now."

"So when my father found how much in earnest I was, he planned the
business change. It was my own mother's money, you know. But he has been
a good father to me, and I am glad he has some other children. I was to
go to Paris."

That seems so magnificent she is almost conscience smitten.

Ah, how much there is to say!

"But you will get tired with all this long walk," he exclaims anxiously.
Oh, blessed thought! he will have the right to keep her rested and
happy, and in a realm of joy.

"Oh, no," she returns. "Why, the walk has not seemed long." The surprise
in her voice is enchanting.

Is any walk ever too long for love? Is any day too long,--even all of
life?

The crickets and peeps come out; a locust drones his slow tune. The sun
has dropped down. Well, they are in an enchanted country that needs no
sun but that of love. And if they walked all night they could not say
all that has been brought to light by the mighty touch that wakes hum