"Elizabeth!"
She took down her hands and turned her eyes on his face—those large deer-like eyes full of tenderness and shame.
"Elizabeth! is this for me—I am safe, and very, very happy, for this terror, these blushes. You would not look this way if you cared nothing about a poor fellow!"
She began to tremble again, and shrunk back with a red glow burning over her neck, and up to her temples beneath the dusky shadows of her hair.
"Elizabeth, darling, speak to me," said the youth, trembling himself beneath the sweet joy of the moment, and approaching her with his face all a-glow.
"Don't, don't! I am sick with shame. I did not know—I did not hope—they told us you had gone down to the water, out in a fishing-boat in the midst of the storm last night, that—that—"
"And you believed it—you grieved a little?"
"I feared every thing!"
"No—not altogether, for you see I am alive. But you have suffered; your eyes are heavy, your cheek white again. Oh, tell me, was it trouble, was it anxiety on my account? Do not fear to say yes—I will not presume—I will not half believe it—only let me have the happiness of thinking so, for one little moment."
She lifted her face, and the dusky shame which blushes usually carry to the eyes, died out, leaving them soft and clear as a mountain spring.