you go to come to him. Nay, do not weep, I have sworn to do it, and were
I to break my oath I should be dishonoured.'

'And because of this oath of yours I must be widowed, Thomas, before I
am a wife? You go and I shall never see you more.'

'Who can say, my sweet? My father went over seas and came back safe,
having passed through many perils.'

'Yes, he came back and--not alone. You are young, Thomas, and in far
countries there are ladies great and fair, and how shall I hold my own
in your heart against them, I being so far away?'

'I swear to you, Lily--'

'Nay, Thomas, swear no oaths lest you should add to your sins by
breaking them. Yet, love, forget me not, who shall forget you never.
Perhaps--oh! it wrings my heart to say it--this is our last meeting on
the earth. If so, then we must hope to meet in heaven. At the least
be sure of this, while I live I will be true to you, and father or
no father, I will die before I break my troth. I am young to speak so
largely, but it shall be as I say. Oh! this parting is more cruel than
death. Would that we were asleep and forgotten among men. Yet it is best
that you should go, for if you stayed what could we be to each other
while my father lives, and may he live long!'

'Sleep and forgetfulness will come soon enough, Lily; none must await
them for very long. Meanwhile we have our lives to live. Let us pray
that we may live them to each other. I go to seek fortune as well as
foes, and I will win it for your sake that we may marry.'

She shook her head sadly. 'It were too much happiness, Thomas. Men and
women may seldom wed their true loves, or if they do, it is but to lose
them. At the least we love, and let us be thankful that we have learned
what love can be, for having loved here, perchance at the worst we may
love otherwhere when there are none to say us nay.'

Then we talked on awhile, babbling broken words of love and hope and
sorrow, as young folks so placed are wont to do, till at length Lily
looked up with a sad sweet smile and said:

'It is time to go, sweetheart. My father beckons me from the lattice.
All is finished.'

'Let us go then,' I answered huskily, and drew her behind the trunk of
the old beech. And there I caught her in my arms and kissed her again
and yet again, nor was she ashamed to kiss me back.

After this I remember little of what happened, except that as we rode
away I saw her beloved face, wan and wistful, watching me departing out