from lifting her in his arms and
kissing the sweet, soft lips which made such a confession.

They walked on for a minute or two in silence, when she went on, as if
she had been still considering the matter:

"No, you must not come, Stafford. My father is not strong,
and--and--ah! well, you know, you saw him that other night--the first
night we met--do you remember? And he was walking in his sleep again
the other evening. If you were to come--if I were to tell him
that--that you had asked me to be your wife, he might fly into a
passion; it might do him harm. Some time ago, when he was ill, the
doctor told me that he must be kept quite quiet, and that nothing must
be allowed to excite or irritate him. He is very old and leads so
secluded a life--he sees no one now but myself. Oh, how I would like
you to come; how good it would be if--if he would give me to you as
other fathers give their daughters! But I are not risk it! I cannot!
Stafford"--she put her hands on his breast and looked up at him--"am I
wrong to tell you all this--to let you see how much I love you? Is
it--unmaidenly of me? Tell me if it is, and I will not do so for the
future. I will hide my heart a little better than I am doing at
present. Ah, see, it is on my sleeve!"

He took her arm and kissed the sleeve where her heart was supposed to
be.

"I've read that men only love while they are not sure of a woman's
love; that with every two persons it is one who loves and the other who
permits himself or herself to be loved. Is that true, Stafford? If so,
then it is I who love--alas! poor me!"

He drew her to him and looked into her eyes with a passionate
intensity.

"It's not true," he said, almost fiercely. "For God's sake don't say
such things. They--they hurt, and hurt badly; they leave a bitter taste
in the mouth, a nasty pang behind. And if it were true--but it isn't,
Ida!--it is I who love. Good Lord! don't you know how beautiful you
are? Haven't you a looking-glass in your room? don't you know that no
girl that ever was born had such wonderful eyes, such beautiful hair?
Oh, my heart's love, don't you know how perfect you are?"

They had stopped under some trees near the ruined chapel, and she leant
against one of them and looked up at him with a strange, dreamy,
far-away look in her eyes which were dark as the purple amethyst.

"I never thought about it. Am I--do you think I am pretty? I am glad;
yes I am glad!"

"Pretty!" he laughed. "Deares