“That would indeed be a blessing to us. And my people have half-promised not to make war on them again. We should therefore live in peace, and fear no more Armadas.”
Mr Hall was now brightening up again, and all the survivors of the unfortunate Wolverine, having something to engage their attention, became quite jolly and happy. I scarce need mention Matty. The child was happy under all circumstances.
Ilda, too, was contented. Perhaps never more so than when taking long walks with Reginald up the lovely valley, gathering wildflowers, or fishing in the winding river.
Ilda was really beautiful. Her beauty was almost of the classical type, and her voice was sweet to listen to. So thought Reginald.
“How charmingly brown the sun has made you, dear Ilda,” said Reginald, as she leant on his arm by the riverside.
He touched her lightly on the cheek as he spoke. Her head fell lightly on his shoulder just then, as if she were tired, and he noticed that there were tears in her eyes.
“No, not tired,” she answered, looking up into his face.
Redder, sweeter lips surely no girl ever possessed.
For just a moment he drew her to his breast and kissed those lips.