uld have nothing else for breakfast;" and at this the student
laughed.

Yet Osra ate little of the bread she liked so well; and presently she
leaned against her lover's shoulder, and he put his arm round her; and
they sat for a little while in silence, listening to the soft sounds
that filled the waking woods as day grew to fulness and the sun beat
warm through the sheltering foliage.

"Don't you hear the trees?" Osra whispered to her lover. "Don't you
hear them? They are whispering for me what I dare not whisper."

"What is it they whisper, sweet?" he asked; and he himself did no more
than whisper.

"The trees whisper, 'Love, love, love.' And the wind--don't you hear
the wind murmuring, 'Love, love, love'? And the birds sing, 'Love,
love, love.' Aye, all the world to-day is softly whispering, 'Love,
love, love!' What else should the great world whisper but my love? For
my love is greater than the world." And she suddenly hid her face in
her hands; and he could kiss no more than her hands, though her eyes
gleamed at him from between slim white fingers.

But suddenly her hands dropped, and she leaned forward as though she
listened.

"What is that sound?" she asked, apprehension dawning in her eyes.

"It is but another whisper, love!" said he.

"Nay, but it sounds to me like--ah, like the noise of horses
galloping."

"It is but the stream, beating over stones."

"Listen, listen, listen!" she cried, springing to her feet. "They are
horses' hoofs. Ah, merciful God, it is the king!" And she caught him
by the hand, and pulled him to his feet, looking at him with a face
pale and alarmed.

"Not the king," said he; "he would not know yet. It is some one else.
Hide your face, dear lady, and all will be well."

"It is the king," she cried. "Hark how they gallop on the road! It is
my brother. Love, he will kill you; love, he will kill you!"

"If it is the king," said he, "I have been betrayed."

"The horses, the horses!" she cried. "By your love for me, the
horses!"

He nodded his head, and, turning, disappeared among the trees. She
stood with clasped hands, heaving breast, and fearful eyes, awaiting
his return. Minutes passed, and he came not. She flung herself on her
knees, beseeching heaven for his life. At last he came along alone,
and he bent over her, taking her hand.

"My love," said he, "the horses are gone."

"Gone!" she cried, gripping his hand.

"Aye. This love, my love, is a wonderful thing. For