She took his offered arm; they started down the half-deserted walk, and quickly came one of the magic changes of the place. The lights vanished, and the colossal moonlit gateway of the Peristyle gained new majesty.
"At last I can thank you for your letter," said Page.
"Were you glad to get it? I am afraid it was not much of an epistle."
"As if any word you would write could be anything but precious! It breathed of you in every line. All things are made new since I read it. My whole life, all my powers, every worthy thing I may ever attain, are yours. Is it possible that you are really going to accept them, that you can care for me, Clover?"
She felt his strong arm tremble under her hand, and it thrilled her; but she was silent, and his impetuous speech rushed on.
"I have had to hold under with an iron will all my thoughts, the contradictions, the hopes and fears, of the last few days. Last night I dreamed of this. We were walking together somewhere, and the moon shone on the water. I asked you to marry me, and you looked at me pityingly and said—No. I reminded you of your letter, but still you shook your head. Clover!"
He spoke her name with tender appeal. They drew near the Peristyle and, stepping within, walked slowly down the wondrous vista of fluted columns beneath the clusters of flower-like lights.
"My letter?" she repeated softly. "How could you value that trivial little letter so much? What was there in it? I do not even remember."
Page stood still, to look in amazement into her face; but even in his surprise it did not occur to him that she might be resorting to subterfuge.
"I have the letter here," he said simply, thrusting his hand into an inside pocket. "We will see."