Ralph and Lina went homewards with a reluctance never experienced before. A sense of concealment oppressed them. An indefinite terror of meeting their friends, rendered their steps slow upon the green sward. As they drew towards the house, Ralph paused.
"Speak to me, Lina, my heart is heavy without the sound of your voice: say you love me, or shall I be miserable with suspense?"
The young girl listened with a saddened and downcast look. A heaviness had fallen upon her with the first sight of old Mr. Harrington on the bank. True he had gone now, but his shadow seemed to oppress her still.
"Will you not speak to me, Lina? Will you not relieve this suspense by one little word?"
She lifted her head gently, but with modest pride.
"You know that I love you, Ralph."
"But not as you have done. I am not content with simple household affection. Say that you love me, body and soul, faults and virtues, as I love you."
Lina drew herself up, and a smile, sad but full of sweetness—half presentiment, half faith—beamed on her face.
"Your soul may search mine to its depths and find only itself there. I do love you, Ralph, even as you love me!"
Her answer was almost solemn in its dignity; for the moment that fair young girl looked and spoke like a priestess.