She put her hand upon his arm and raised her eyes to his slowly, and let them rest there.
“Yes!” she said, as if the effort cost her much; “I do love you!”
A linnet, perched upon a branch of the tree above them, burst into song; a lamb, that had been regarding them curiously, drew near and bleated; the brook babbled over the stones; all nature in its happy springtide seemed to take up the harmony of these two souls bound in Love’s subtle spell, and to find voice; but they were silent.
At last he spoke.
“It is like a dream!” he said, removing his eyes from her face for a moment and looking round like a man awaking from sleep. “Like a dream! Tell me once more, Doris; just once more!”
“Is it so difficult to believe? Well, then—I love you!” she murmured, and a smile—the first fruit of love—beamed from her eyes.
“Difficult to believe!” he said; “well, I should think so! Great Heaven! what on earth do you see in me to love?”
“Quite enough,” she said, the smile growing sunnier, as she looked at his handsome face and ardent eyes.
“It’s wonderful!” he said. “Just look at the difference between us: you, so beautiful, so clever, such a genius; oh, I know! Why, you will be famous—are famous already, I daresay—and I!” he laughed with self-scorn. “It is wonderful!” and he drew her hand to his lips and kissed it.
“Isn’t it?” she said, slowly, with loving mockery.