"There is but little need, darling. I always admire you and everything belonging to you. Your flowers are like yourself—always sweetest of the sweet, fairest of the fair!"
Have men ever paused one minute before swallowing deadly poison, before drawing the trigger of a pistol, before sending a long, gleaming knife into their hearts? Have they ever paused with one foot upon a precipice, with one hand on the stake—paused, before taking the irrevocable step, to look around and enjoy one more moment of life? Even so she paused now; she closed her eyes with a lingering look at his face, she buried her own in the sweet, fragrant flowers.
"Do you love me so very dearly?" she asked.
"My darling, when you can collect the gleaming stars of heaven, or the shining drops of the sunny sea, you will be able to understand how much I love you—not until then!"
CHAPTER LXII.
"I HAVE SEEN SOME ONE LIKE HER."
One moment, only one, she kept her fair face in the fragrant blossoms—one moment, to taste, perhaps for the last time, the sweet draught of love—one moment, in which to curse the folly, the bitter, black sin of her girlhood, and to moan over the impending evil. Then she raised her face again. Surely some of the sweetness of the flowers had passed into it; it had never seemed to Earle so tender or so sweet.
"What were you saying just now, Earle, about a glass, or some one's eyes never being taken from my face? If my grammar is involved, it is your fault."
"I cannot imagine who he is!" cried Earle. "We have been here nearly an hour, and he has never looked at the stage—I do not think he has heard one note of the music; he has done nothing but look at you earnestly."
"Perhaps he admires my jewels or my flowers," she said, coquettishly.