"'Thou art my life, my love, my heart,
The very eyes of me;
Thou hast command of every part,
To live and die for thee.'
"I will come later on in the evening and see no one but you."
He laughed as he closed the note.
"I wonder what pretty caprice possesses my darling now," he said to himself.
The man who took the note back wondered at his young mistress, her face was quite white, her golden hair clung in rich disorder, the white hands, so eagerly extended to seize the letter, trembled and burned like fire.
"They must have had a quarrel," he said to himself, with a knowing nod, as he closed the door. "They have had a quarrel, and my lady wishes to make it all right again."
It was a reprieve. She kissed the little note with a passion of love that was real.
"My darling," she said, "if we could but go away together."
And as she sat there a sudden memory of the time when she had run away from him came to her. She saw the old-fashioned garden at Brackenside; she saw the great crimson roses, and the sheaves of white lilies; she saw the kindly face of Mattie, and heard Earle singing:
"Thou art my soul, my life—the very eyes of me."