ed in silence and
rapture beyond words. Then he broke from the pressure of those
restraining hands; lifted his head, and looked into her face once more.

"My wife!" he said.

* * * * *

Into Jane's honest face came a look of startled wonder; then a deep
flush, seeming to draw all the blood, which had throbbed so strangely
through her heart, into her cheeks, making them burn, and her heart die
within her. She disengaged herself from his hold, rose, and stood
looking away to where the still waters of the lake gleamed silver in
the moonlight.

Garth Dalmain stood beside her. He did not touch her, nor did he speak
again. He felt sure he had won; and his whole soul was filled with a
gladness unspeakable. His spirit was content. The intense silence
seemed more expressive than words. Any ordinary touch would have dimmed
the sense of those moments when her hands had held him to her. So he
stood quite still and waited.

At last Jane spoke. "Do you mean that you wish to ask me to be--to be
THAT--to you?"

"Yes, dear," he answered, gently; but in his voice vibrated the quiet
of strong self-control. "At least I came out here intending to ask it
of you. But I cannot ask it now, beloved. I can't ask you TO BE what
you ARE already. No promise, no ceremony, no giving or receiving of a
ring, could make you more my wife than you have been just now in those
wonderful moments."

Jane slowly turned and looked at him. She had never seen anything so
radiant as his face. But still those shining eyes smote her like
swords. She longed to cover them with her hands; or bid him look away
over the woods and water, while he went on saying these sweet things to
her. She put up one foot on the low parapet, leaned her elbow on her
knee, and shielded her face with her hand. Then she answered him,
trying to speak calmly.

"You have taken me absolutely by surprise, Dal. I knew you had been
delightfully nice and attentive since the concert evening, and that our
mutual understanding of music and pleasure in it, coupled with an
increased intimacy brought about by our confidential conversation under
the cedar, had resulted in an unusually close and delightful
friendship. I honestly admit it seems to have--it has--meant more to me
than any friendship has ever meant. But that was partly owing to your
temperament, Dal, which tends to make you always the most vivid spot in
one's mental landscape. But truly I thought you wanted