Out into the dusky night, odorous with the breath of the flowers, and mystical in the dim light of the stars. A gentle summer, zephyr-like air stirred the trees; the sound of the water falling over the weir came like music up the hillside. A nightingale sang in the woods below them; all the night seemed full of slumberous passion and unspoken love.
"We are alone here, Stella," he murmured. "Now answer me. Listen once more, darling! I am not tired of telling you; I shall never tire of it. Listen! I love you—I love you!"
The stars grew dull and misty before her eyes, the charm of his voice, of his presence, was stealing over her; the passionate love which burnt in her heart for him was finding its way through cool prudence, her lips were tremulous. A sigh, long and deep, broke from them.
"I love you!" he replied, as if the words were a spell, as indeed they were—a spell not to be resisted. "Give me your answer, Stella. Come close to me. Whisper it! whisper 'I love you,' or send me away. But you will not do that; no, you shall not do that!" and forgetful of his vow to be gentle with her, he put his arm round her, drew her to him and—kissed her.
It was the first kiss. A thrill ran through her, the sky seemed to sink, the whole night to pause as if it were waiting. With a little shudder of exquisite pleasure, mingled with that subtle pain which ecstasy always brings in its train, she laid her head upon his breast, and hiding her eyes, murmured—
"I love you!"
If the words meant much to him—to him the man of the world before whom many a beautiful woman had been ready to bow with complaisant homage—if they meant much to him, how much more did they mean to her?
All her young maiden faith spoke in those three words. With them she surrendered her young, pure life, her unstained, unsullied heart to him. With a passion as intense as his own, she repaid him tenfold. For a moment he was silent, his eyes fixed on the stars, his whole being thrilling under the music—the joy of this simple avowal. Then he pressed her to him, and poured a shower of kisses upon her hair and upon her arm which lay across his breast.
"My darling, my darling!" he murmured. "Is it really true? Can I—dare I believe it: you love me? Oh, my darling, the whole world seems changed to me. You love me! See, Stella, it seems so wonderful that I cannot realize it. Let me see your eyes, I shall find the truth there."
She pressed still closer to him, but he raised her head gently—in his very touch was a caress, and it was as if his hands kissed her—and looked long into the rapt, upturned eyes. Then he bent his head slowly, and kissed her once—hungrily, clingingly.