upon her usually gay
spirits, and checked the outpourings of her mind. She sat silent,
holding to the arms of her swing, and looking with earnest eyes out over
the varied landscape. I watched her, while the fierce pulsings of my
temples blurred my eyes, and made her seem as in a sea of mist. The
noises of the day had lulled to echoes. The peace of a summer twilight
was stealing stealthily over all the land. From a far-off pasture came
the silvery tinkle of a sheep-bell; the unutterably mournful cooing of a
dove was borne from the forest. The whispering leaves above us rustled
gently before the approach of the Angel of the Dusk. The sylvan solitude
became as an enchanted spot where none were living but she and I.
Why--oh, why could it not last forever, just as it was that moment! But
Time does not halt for love or hate, and she was going away,--out of my
life, to leave it as a barren rock in a burning desert. The intense
longing of my gaze caused her to turn towards me. She dropped her eyes,
while her cheeks grew rosy as the sunset.

"Salome!"

The sweet name fell in trembling accents from my lips. She caught her
breath quickly, but did not look up. I arose and stood before her, with
my hands clasped in front of me.

"I love you, Salome!" I said in husky tones, for my voice would barely
come. "You have called into life that love which God has given every
man. It possesses me as utterly as the winds of heaven possess the
earth. It has made me as weak as a child, and, like a child, I have told
you. I was not strong enough to keep it from you. Should you detest me
for giving way as I have, I would not blame you. I am a middle-aged man;
you are a little girl, and I have no right to ask anything from you.
Your life is before you; mine is over half spent. But I love you, and I
would die for you, Salome--Salome, my precious one!"

I turned from her, and set my teeth upon my lip, for my confession had
shaken my soul to its uttermost depths. Not for the earth, nor for
heaven would I have touched her white hand. Through the swirling blood
which benumbed my consciousness I felt a presence near me,--her
presence. I turned with a low cry. She was standing there, close to me.
Her bonnet had fallen off, and in the deep twilight her brown hair
glowed like an aureole about a saint. One swift, hurt, appealing glance
from her uplifted eyes, and she sank, quivering, upon my breast,
sobbing, "Abner! Abner!"

God of mercy, I thank thee!