With him quarreling was delicious, and she was in no haste to cut her enjoyment short. But even the pleasure of tormenting one's lover has its reaction; so one day, as the sun went down, pouring a flood of crimson into the bosom of that old cedar of Lebanon, Clara relented a little, and allowed Hepworth to kiss her hand. It was impossible to hold out longer, with all the leaves quivering in that soft air, and the little birds hiding away among them, chirping to each other, and setting a sweet example to the lovers.
Of course an ardent man, very much in love, is not likely to rest content with the touch of his lady-love's hand after he has been kept in quarantine four or five days. Hepworth was ardent, and desperately in love; so he took advantage of her soft relenting, and drew her close to his side, laid her head against his heart, and, with his cheek touching the thick waves of her hair, began to talk of the future, when they would be all in all to each other.
Clara shut her eyes, and allowed her head to rest so close to her lover's heart that it rose and fell with its strong beating. She loved the music of that full, warm pulse, and a smile parted her lips as she listened.
Thus they rested awhile in silence, she, carried into a dreamy elysium by the swell of those full heart-beats; he, calmed by the stir of the cedar-leaves, looking into her face, and wondering, in the humility of true affection, how that bright young creature had ever been won to love him. He bent his head down softly, and kissed the blue veins on her temple.
"Are you sure, very, very sure, that you love me, Clara?"
She reached up one arm, wound it about his neck, laid her cheek against his, and whispered:
"Don't you think so?"
"Lady Clara! Mr. Hepworth Closs!"
It was a man's voice, stern and clear as the clash of bells. Both the lover and the girl sprang to their feet.
"Father!"