“When everything is ready,” replied Erica, “we will fix; but not now. There is much to be done;—there are many uncertainties.”
“Uncertainties! What uncertainties? I know of none—except indeed as to—”
Rolf stopped to peel off, and pull to pieces, some of the bark of the pine trunk on which he was sitting. Erica looked wistfully at him; he saw it, and went on.
“It is often an uncertainty to me, Erica, after all that has happened, whether you mean to marry me at all. There are so many doubts, and so many considerations, and so many fears!—I often think we shall never be any nearer than we are.”
“That is your sort of doubt and fear,” said Erica, smiling. “Who is there that entertains a worse?”
“I do not want any rallying or joking, Erica. I am quite serious.”
“Seriously then—are we not nearer than we were a year ago? We are betrothed; and I have shown you that I do believe we are to be married, if—”
“Ay, there. ‘If’ again.”
“If it shall please the Powers above us not to separate us, by death or otherwise.”
“Death! at our age! And separation! when we have lived on the same farm for years! What have we to do with death and separation?”