here I should never see
you again."

"My darling, that is all fancy--nothing but fancy. No matter where you
are, my birthday comes on the thirtieth day of June, and on that day I
shall return to you to make you what I have always believed you to
be--my wife."

"I am your wife, Lance; let others say what they will, you will not deny
it."

"Not I, Leone. You are my wife; and the very first day the law permits
you shall bear my name, just as you now share my heart and life."

"On the thirtieth day of June," she sighed. "I shall count every hour,
every minute until then. I wish, Lance, I could sleep a long sleep from
the hour of parting until the hour of meeting--if I could but turn my
face from the light of day and not open my eyes until they rest on you
again. I shall have to live through every hour and every minute, and
they will be torture."

"The time will soon pass, Leone, my darling; it will be full of hope,
not despair. When the green leaves spring and the sunshine warms the
land, you will say to yourself, 'June is coming, and June brings back my
love;' when the lark sings and the wood-pigeons make their nests, when
the hawthorn blooms on the hedges and the lilac rears its tall plumes,
you will say 'June is near.' When the roses laugh and the lilies bloom,
when the brook sings in the wood, when the corn grows ripe in the
meadows, you will say 'June is come, and it brings my love.'"

"My love--oh, my love," sighed the girl, and her voice had the
passionate sweetness of a siren.

"I shall come back to you, Leone, with everything bright, smiling, and
beautiful; every rose that blooms, every bird that sings, every green
leaf that springs will be a message from me to you to say that I am
coming; when the wind whispers, and the trees murmur, it will be the
same story, that I am coming back to my darling. Let us picture the
thirtieth of June, and your mind shall rest on that picture. It will be
a bright day, I know, the sky all blue and clear, not a cloud in it; but
with the half-golden light one sees in June skies. You can see that
picture, Leone?"

"Yes," she replied, drawing nearer him, and resting her head again on
his breast.

"The sun will be low on the hills, and every living thing will be
laughing in its light. The great trees will have grown strong in it, the
flowers will have brightened, and the river there, Leone, will be
running so deep and clear, kissing the green banks and the osier beds,
carryin