"How angry you were with me the first time I kissed your hand," he said; "and now I have all your heart. There will be neither broken vows nor a broken ring for us, Leone, no matter what the water sings or says."
"I hope not," says the girl, brightly.
"I shall take possession of my lodgings at Oheton to-morrow," he said. "I shall have to spend some little time there; but you must promise that I shall see you every evening, Leone. Will you find your way to the mill-wheel? When we are married, I shall try to buy the mill, the stream, and the land all round it; it will be a sacred spot to me. In three weeks, Leone, you will be my wife."
"Yes," she replied, "in three weeks."
The wind fell, the ripple of the green leaves ceased, the birds had sung themselves to sleep, only the water ran laughingly on.
"Lance," cried the girl, suddenly, "do you know what the water says—can you hear it?"
"No," he replied, with a laugh; "I have not such a vivid fancy as you. What does it say?"
"Nothing but sorrow, nothing but sorrow," she chanted.
"I cannot hear that; if it says anything at all, it is nothing but love, nothing but love."
And then, as the shades of night were coming on, he saw her safely home.