“Ah, Lester, to me, yes,” she returned, petting the hand that held hers. “I am your promised wife, Lester—promised by me, but not by my father. Let us hope, dearest, that time will make some change in his determination to find a suitor of greater wealth; he could not find one more noble,” blushing sweetly at the confession.
Lester Hathaway drew her closer to him, and kissed her rich, red lips in appreciation of her kind and loving words.
“We will hope,” he said, as she modestly drew away. “I dislike, dearest, as much as you, to have our meetings clandestine, but I could not live throughout the day without at least a moment of your sweet society. You do not blame me, Mollie, do you?” lovingly pressing the hand that lay in his.
“Of course not, Lester, if you say so; for I believe you to be the very soul of truth,” she returned, smiling archly.
“And when I avow that no fairer woman ever lived, that my heart beats but in love for you, that I adore you, Mollie, you believe me sincere, do you not, dearest?” and his arm stole gently about her slender waist, drawing her unresisting form closer to his heart.
“Lester, my own, I do; and your love is reciprocated with all the depth of my heart.” She spoke with truth and pathos.
Raising her face to his, he looked into her eyes.
“You will marry none other than me? You will wait until I can claim you from your father? Speak, dearest.”
“I will,” came the words, lowly but lovingly spoken.
He kissed her lips even as the words were uttered.