“‘What time is it, dear, now?
We are in the year now
Of the New Creation, one million, two, or three;
But where are we now, love?
We are, as I trow, love,
In the Heaven of Heavens, upon the Crystal Sea.’”
“That is how I hope it may be with us, dear,” she said, taking his hand, as the last words passed his lips.
“Are you happy now?” he asked her.
“Yes, Ernest, I am happy indeed. I do not think that I shall ever be so happy again; certainly I never was so happy before. Do you know, dear, I wish to tell you so, that you may see how mean I have been; I have fought so hard against my love for you.”
He looked pained. “Why?” he asked.
“I will tell you quite truly, Ernest—because you are so young. I was ashamed to fall in love with a boy, and yet you see, dear, you have been too strong for me.”
“Why, there is no difference in our ages!”
“Ah, Ernest, but I am a woman, and ever so much older than you. We age so much quicker, you know. I feel about old enough to be your mother,” she said, with a pretty assumption of dignity.
“And I feel quite old enough to be your lover,” he replied, impertinently.
“So it seems. But, Ernest, if three months ago anybody had told me that I should be in love to-day with a boy of twenty-one, I would not have believed them. Dear, I have given you all my heart; you will not betray me, will you? You know very young men are apt to change their minds.”