“Do you want me to promise, Jack?” I said, simply, as I looked up in his face.
“No, darling; I am satisfied,” he cried, as his strong arms held me to his broad breast, and that was all. No oaths could have bound me more tightly to him. I felt that I was his wife when he should come to claim me some day—when?
We were late that evening, and entered the house shyly, for there had been so much to talk of and plan. In a month’s time Jack was to sail for Melbourne; then he was to work very hard for three years, and come and fetch me to be his wife.
That month glided by, and the last day had come. It was, as I told you, spring-time—joyous spring-time, with the hawthorn’s snowy blossoms, the apple-trees pink; and the pear-trees pearly with their pyramids of flowers. Every meadow I passed was starred with golden buttercups, and from every spray the birds trilled or jerked forth their merry songs of hope and love.
I could not feel sad, even though I was going to meet Jack for the last walk before he went away; but mingled with the feeling of ecstasy there was a strange tearfulness of eye, and my breath would come at times with a sob.
He was by the stile, waiting for me—the stile down by the long mead, half-way between the two farms—and as he took my hand in his, we neither of us spoke, but stood gazing away over woodland and meadow, all clad in their wondrous beauty, and listened to the birds. Now it was the soft tender coo of the stock-dove from the wood, now the jerked-out twittering song of the linnets; then, soft and mellow, from the thick hedgerows floated towards us the fluty notes of the blackbird, while far on high trilled away the larks, singing one against the other to their mates, sitting in the tall grass of the golden meads.
We could not talk, our hearts were too full, for Jack was to be off at daybreak the next morning. But there was no need for words. We loved each other in the simple nature-taught way that has been since the world began, and we knew that every joyous song around that thrilled upon our ears meant love, and even in our sorrow we were happy.
“Only three years, darling,” Jack whispered to me, “and then—”
The tears rose to my eyes as I tried to answer him, but I could not speak a word.
“And you will let me find a long letter when I get there?” he said tenderly.