“I must leave in ten minutes then,” said the young man, rising from the table. The rest followed his example.
“I wonder if the buggy will be in time?” said he.
“It is at the gate,” replied Miss Morton. “I heard it drive up some time ago.”
Unmindful of the others now, Philip put his arm about Grace's waist and drew her away to the end of the piazza and thence out into the garden.
“Poor young things,” murmured Miss Morton, the tears running down her cheeks as she looked after them. “It is pitiful, James, to see how they suffer.”
“Yes,” said the minister; “and there are a great many just such scenes to-day. Ah, well, as St. Paul says, we see as yet but in part.”
Passing in and out among the shrubbery, and presently disappearing from the sympathetic eyes upon the piazza, the lovers came to a little summer-house, and there they entered. Taking her wrists in his hands, he held her away from him, and his eyes went slowly over her from head to foot, as if he would impress upon his mind an image that absence should not have power to dim.
“You are so beautiful,” he said, “that in this moment, when I ought to have all my courage, you make me feel that I am a madman to leave you for the sake of any cause on earth. The future to most men is but a chance of happiness, and when they risk it they only risk a chance. In staking their lives, they only stake a lottery ticket, which would probably draw a blank. But my ticket has drawn a capital prize. I risk not the chance, but the certainty, of happiness. I believe I am a fool, and if I am killed, that will be the first thing they will say to me on the other side.”
“Don't talk of that, Phil. Oh, don't talk of being killed!”
“No, no; of course not!” he exclaimed. “Don't fret about that; I shall not be killed. I've no notion of being killed. But what a fool I am to waste these last moments staring at you when I might be kissing you, my love, my love!” And clasping her in his arms, he covered her face with kisses.