wished to come in; but it was empty, for even my Cousin Tom was
disporting himself next door in a round dance that had but just begun.

Then it was that all my resolution came to a point; for all
circumstances looked that way--my determination to speak, the blessed
time of Christmas, the extraordinary kindness of Dolly to me all day,
and the very place empty, yet lighted and waiting, as if by design.

For a moment after she had sat down on one side of the hearth, and I on
the other, I could not speak; for I seemed to myself all shaking, and
again she looked such a child, with her pale cheeks flushed with the
exercise, and her eyes alight with merriment. All went before me in that
moment--my old thought that I was to be a monk, my leaving the
novitiate, my mission from Rome, such as it was, and the work I had been
able to do for the King. To all this I must say good-bye; and yet this
price I should pay seemed to me scarcely to be considered as weighed
against this little maid. So it went by me like a picture, and was gone,
and I looked up.

There was that in my air, I suppose, and the way I looked at her, that
told her what my meaning was; for before I had spoken even a syllable
she was on her feet again, and the flush was stricken from her face.

"Oh! no! Cousin Roger," she cried. "No, no, Cousin Roger!

"It is Yes, Yes, Cousin Dolly," said I. "Or at least I hope so." (I said
this with more assurance than I shewed, for if I was sure of anything it
was that she loved me in return. And I stood up and leaned on the
chimney-breast.)

She stood there, staring on me; and the flush crept back.

"What have I said?" she whispered.

"You need say nothing more, my dear, except what I bid you. My dear
love, you have guessed just what it was that I had to say. Sit down
again, if you please, Cousin, while I tell you."

As I looked at her, a very curious change came across her face. I saw it
at once, but I did not think upon it till afterwards. She had been a
very child just now, in her terror that I should speak--just that
terror, I should suppose, that every maid must have when a man first
speaks to her of love. Yet, as I looked, that terror went from her face,
and her wide eyes narrowed a little as she brought down her brows, and
her parted lips closed. It was, I thought, just that she had conquered
herself, and set herself to hear what I had to say, before answering me
as I wished. She moved very slowly back to her chair,