"Stay! one moment, beautiful Marian! When shall we meet again?"
"When Heaven wills."
"And when will that be, fairest?"
"I do not know; but do not visit me at the cottage, dear Thurston, it would be indiscreet."
"Marian! I must see you often. Will you meet me on the beach to-morrow afternoon?"
"No," answered Marian, gravely, "in this single instance, I must not meet you, though my heart pleads like a sick child with me to do it, Thurston, dear Thurston."
She raised her eyes to his as she spoke, and giving way to a sudden impulse, dropped her head upon his shoulder, put her arms around his neck, and embraced him. And then his better angel rose above the storm of passion that was surging through his veins, and calmed the tumult, and spoke through his lips.
"You are right, Marian—fairest and dearest, you are right. And I not only love you best of all women, but honor you more than all men. It shall be as you have said. I will not seek you anywhere. As the mother, dying of plague, denies herself the parting embrace of her 'unstricken' child—so, for your sake, will I refrain from the heaven of your presence."
"And, dear Thurston," she said, raising her head, "it will not be so hard to bear, as you now think. We shall see each other every Sunday in the church, and every Monday in the lecture-room. We shall often be of the same invited company at neighbors' houses. Remember, also, that Christmas is coming, with its protracted festivities, when we shall see each other almost every evening, at some little neighborhood gathering. And now I must really hurry; oh! how late I am this morning! Good-by, dearest Thurston!"
"Good-by, my own Marian."