and Thursdays."

The voice continued:

"We are powerless against celestial things. The whole Law is love.
Marriage is Canaan; you are to me the promised land of beauty."

Deruchette replied, "I did not think I did wrong any more than other
persons who are strict."

The voice continued:

"God manifests his will in the flowers, in the light of dawn, in the
spring; and love is of his ordaining. You are beautiful in this holy
shadow of night. This garden has been tended by you; in its perfumes
there is something of your breath. The affinities of our souls do not
depend on us. They cannot be counted with our sins. You were there, that
was all. I was there, that was all. I did nothing but feel that I loved
you. Sometimes my eyes rested upon you. I was wrong, but what could I
do. It was through looking at you that all happened. I could not
restrain my gaze. There are mysterious impulses which are above our
search. The heart is the chief of all temples. To have your spirit in my
house--this is the terrestrial paradise for which I hope. Say, will you
be mine. As long as I was poor, I spoke not. I know your age. You are
twenty-one; I am twenty-six. I go to-morrow; if you refuse me I return
no more. Oh, be my betrothed; will you not? More than once have my eyes,
in spite of myself, addressed to you that question. I love you; answer
me. I will speak to your uncle as soon as he is able to receive me; but
I turn first to you. To Rebecca I plead for Rebecca; unless you love me
not."

Deruchette hung her head, and murmured:

"Oh! I worship him."

The words were spoken in a voice so low, that only Gilliatt heard them.

She remained with her head lowered as if by shading her face she hoped
to conceal her thoughts.

There was a pause. No leaf among the trees was stirred. It was that
solemn and peaceful moment when the slumber of external things mingles
with the sleep of living creatures; and night seems to listen to the
beating of Nature's heart. In the midst of that retirement, like a
harmony making the silence more complete, rose the wide murmur of the
sea.

The voice was heard again.

"Mademoiselle!"

Deruchette started.

Again the voice spoke.

"You are silent."

"What would you have me say?"

"I wait for your reply."

"God has heard it," said Deruchette.

Then the voice became almost sonorous, and at the same time softer than
before, and these words issued from the leaves as from a burning bush:

"You are