int of a chain that suddenly let out link by link to his whole
force.

'Farina!' she called; and wound him back with a run. 'Farina! You do not
think me ungrateful? I could not tell my father in the crowd what you
did for me. He shall know. He will thank you. He does not understand
you now, Farina. He will. Look not so sorrowful. So much I would say to
you.'

So much was rushing on her mind, that her maidenly heart became unruly,
and warned her to beware.

The youth stood as if listening to a nightingale of the old woods, after
the first sweet stress of her voice was in his ear. When she ceased,
he gazed into her eyes. They were no longer deep and calm like forest
lakes; the tender-glowing blue quivered, as with a spark of the young
girl's soul, in the beams of the moon then rising.

'Oh, Margarita!' said the youth, in tones that sank to sighs: 'what am I
to win your thanks, though it were my life for such a boon!'

He took her hand, and she did not withdraw it. Twice his lips dwelt upon
those pure fingers.

'Margarita: you forgive me: I have been so long without hope. I have
kissed your hand, dearest of God's angels!'

She gently restrained the full white hand in his pressure.

'Margarita! I have thought never before death to have had this sacred
bliss. I am guerdoned in advance for every grief coming before death.'

She dropped on him one look of a confiding softness that was to the
youth like the opened gate of the innocent garden of her heart.

'You pardon me, Margarita? I may call you my beloved? strive, wait,
pray, hope, for you, my star of life?'

Her face was so sweet a charity!

'Dear love! one word!--or say nothing, but remain, and move not. So
beautiful you are! Oh, might I kneel to you here; dote on you; worship
this white hand for ever.'

The colour had passed out of her cheeks like a blissful western red
leaving rich paleness in the sky; and with her clear brows levelled at
him, her bosom lifting more and more rapidly, she struggled against the
charm that was on her, and at last released her hand.

'I must go. I cannot stay. Pardon you? Who might not be proud of your
love!--Farewell!'

She turned to move away, but lingered a step from him, hastily touching
her bosom and either hand, as if to feel for a brooch or a ring. Then
she blushed, drew the silver arrow from the gathered gold-shot braids
above her neck, held it out to him, and was gone.

Farina clutched the treasure, and reeled in