'Oh, my dear, my dear!' she said. 'How beautiful, how very beautiful! Oh, my love, how sweet—oh, how sweet, my love!'
'You will help?' he said. 'You will keep those little beggars away?'
'Leave it to me,' she said; 'you go to her, down in the garden, and the dusk is here, and the moon beginning to rise! How sweet, how beautiful! And she has on a white dress! Don't trouble about anything, my love—just go out to her.' The happy tears were gushing from her eyes.
'What a good sort you are!' he said, and wrung her hand, and patted her shoulder, then went plunging out into the sweet darkness to tell his love.
He found her where the wattles grew thickest, leaning on the fence, her flower-face turned to the young rising moon.
'How did you know I was here?' she said.
'I knew,' he answered, and a long silence fell. 'What are you thinking of?' he whispered.
'I don't—know,' she said, and a strange little sob shook in her throat.
His arm sprang round her.
'Oh,' he said, 'I love you—I do love you! Dearest, dearest, I love you! Do love me, darling—I love you, I love you so!'