The hush of sunset was on the forest, as they walked onward, side by side, exchanging their mutual histories. Not a leaf stirred in the crowns of the tall trees, and the dusk, creeping along between their stems, brought with it a richer woodland odor. Their voices were low and subdued, as if an angel of God were hovering in the shadows, and listening, or God Himself looked down upon them from the violet sky.
At last Richard stopped.
“Asenath,” said he, “does thee remember that spot on the banks of the creek, where the rudbeckias grew?”
“I remember it,” she answered, a girlish blush rising to her face.
“If I were to say to thee now what I said to thee there, what would be thy answer?”
Her words came brokenly.
“I would say to thee, Richard,—'I can trust thee,—I DO love thee!'”
“Look at me, Asenath.”
Her eyes, beaming with a clearer light than even then when she first confessed, were lifted to his. She placed her hands gently upon his shoulders, and bent her head upon his breast. He tenderly lifted it again, and, for the first time, her virgin lips knew the kiss of man.