I
will be with you again in fifteen minutes; in the meantime here is
something for you to look at," he said, drawing from his pocket an
elegant little volume bound in purple and gold, and laying it in her
lap. He then smiled, sprang into his saddle, bowed, and galloped away,
leaving Marian to examine her book. It was a London copy of Spenser's
Fairy Queen, superbly illustrated, one of the rarest books to be found
in the whole country at that day. On the fly-leaf the name of Marian was
written, in the hand of Thurston.

Some minutes passed in the pleasing examination of the volume; and
Marian was still turning the leaves with unmixed pleasure--pleasure in
the gift, and pleasure in the giver--when Thurston, even before the
appointed time, suddenly rejoined her.

"So absorbed in Spenser that you did not even hear or see me!" said the
young man, half reproachfully.

"I was indeed far gone in Fairy Land! Oh, I thank you so much for your
beautiful present! It is indeed a treasure. I shall prize it greatly,"
said Marian, in unfeigned delight.

"Do you know that Fairy Land is not obsolete, dearest Marian?" he said,
fixing his eyes upon her charming face with an ardor and earnestness
that caused hers to sink.

"Come," she said, in a low voice, and rising from the rock; "let us
leave this place and go forward."

They walked on, speaking softly of many things--of the vision of
Spenser, of the beautiful autumnal weather, of anything except the one
interest that now occupied both hearts. The fear of startling her
bashful trust, and banishing those bewitching glances that sometimes
lightened on his face, made him cautious, and restrained his eagerness;
while excessive consciousness kept her cheeks dyed with blushes, and her
nerves vibrating sweet, wild music, like the strings of some aeolian
harp when swept by the swift south wind.

He determined, during the walk, to plead his love, and ascertain his
fate. Ay! but how approach the subject when, at every ardent glance or
tone, her face, her heart, shrank and closed up, like the leaves of the
sensitive plant.

So they rambled on, discovering new beauties in nature; now it would be
merely an oak leaf of rare richness of coloring; now some tiny insect
with finished elegance of form; now a piece of the dried branch of a
tree that Thurston picked up, to bid her note the delicately blending
shades in its gray hue, or the curves and lines of grace in its twisted
form--the beauty o