k
shadow in any landscape than surrounded these two persons, as they sat
together side by side, both thinking of the same thing, and both
reluctant to break the delicious silence.

At last Hepworth spoke--it was but a single word, which made his
companion start and hold her breath.

"Clara!"

She did not answer him; that one word frightened her. She had half a
mind to start up and hide herself in the shadows, for he was looking in
her face, and the moonlight fell like a glory over his features, which
she now saw were grave even to sadness.

"Clara, do you know that I must go away soon?"

"Oh, no! no!"

The girl had not expected this. The infinite tenderness in his voice had
led her completely astray, and she broke forth in an eager protest.

"I must, dear child."

"Dear child!" repeated the girl, half crying. "Yes, yes, you treat me
like a child--as if I could help being young--as if I could not feel and
think and be miserable like other people. It's hard, it's cruel,
it's--it's--"

Here Clara burst into a flood of tears, and leaping to her feet, would
have run into the room where Lady Hope was sitting, but Closs caught her
in his arms.

"What are you crying for, Clara? Why do you wish to run away? It is
wrong to say this, but I must go, because of loving you as no man ever
loved a woman before."

"A woman?" said Clara, and gleams of mischief peeped out from behind her
tears. "You called me a child just now."

"Woman or child, Clara, you are the dearest thing to me on earth."

Clara struggled in his arms, and tried to push him from her.

"I--I don't believe you. There!"

"Don't believe me?"

Hepworth released the girl, and allowed her to stand alone. On any
subject touching his honor he was peculiarly sensitive.

"Because--because men who love people don't run away from them. It--it
isn't reasonable."

All the mischief in her eyes was drowned in fresh tears. She thought
that he was offended, and the estrangement of a moment seems eternal to
first love.

"Honorable men do not permit themselves to speak of love at all where
they have reason to think it unwelcome," was his grave reply.

"Unwelcome? Oh, Mr. Closs!"

Clara held out both her hands and came nearer to Hepworth, like a child
that wants to be forgiven. He drew her close to his side, but spoke a
little sadly.

"You see how much I must love you, Clara, to forget all that a guest in
your father's house should remember."

"I--I don't