“Nonsense! With a great future flashing before you.”
“Could any fortune be sweet, or any gift it brought a woman be worth having, if the one for whom she cared were not there to share it with her?”
“A woman’s love is essentially spiritual in its nature. It does not depend so much upon sight,” he said.
She had dropped the oars. They were drifting dreamily.
The sun had gone down below the horizon, leaving purple shadows on its rim. The willows sent their seductive motions across the face of the waters.
She looked at him as though to draw him nearer and enfold him in her stretched-out arms. The warm impulses of her heart were warring in their wild effort to be free. Silence was the language of youth and love to him—they needed no words.
The force and the sweetness, the purity and power of his nature as she interpreted it, was the complete realization of her beautiful dreams.
“Have you ever forgiven me for spilling your blood and leaving a scar?” Her thrillingly delicate touch on his knee swept him with a swift, vigorous delight.
“Forgiven! I’ve blessed you. That is something from you that I shall carry with me through life. And there’s another I want—a memory. You never have called me by my name.”
Looking into his fine, clear face, she felt the love flowing softly like a fountain in her heart. “Glenn,” she whispered his beloved name.