He, too, took away with him the memory of the sweet face and tender eyes; a memory never to die. He nodded to Earle.
"I must be lenient," he said, "and give you young lovers ten minutes longer. I shall be in the library, Earle. Come and smoke a cigar with me. I have something to say to you."
Mattie had gone to her room; Doris had promised to meet her there. The little bird, startled by the voices perhaps, had ceased to sing; and the lovers stood under the spreading tree alone.
"Ten minutes out here with you, my darling," said Earle; "it is like two years in paradise. How kind they are to us, Doris; how happy we shall be!"
But he had not many words. He laid the golden head on his breast, where he could see and kiss the fair face; he held the white hands in his; he could only say, over and over again, how happy they should be to-morrow. His wife to-morrow! Surely the moon had never shone upon a fairer picture or a lighter heart. The ten minutes were soon over.
"Good-bye to the moonlight," said Earle, "to the tired flowers and shining stars, and the fair, sleeping world."
He parted with her at the foot of the broad staircase; she was going to her room.
"Good-night," said Earle, kissing the red lips; "good-night, and sweet dreams."
But when he had gone about two steps away, she called him back again. She raised her arms and clasped them round his neck; she raised her face that he might kiss it again.
"My darling Earle, my love Earle, my lover, my husband!" she said, with a passion of love in her face, "good-night."