When she so coldly rejected him, unlike most men, he had determined to wait patiently for her indifference to turn into reciprocation. He had recognized but one thing, the simple, supreme fact that he loved Grace Hall. In regard to her, there was and never could be any other thought. Inspired with such love as this, such sublime patience, such infinite hope, is it any wonder he looked into her eyes and read a hint of victory?
The time was drawing near. His two years of waiting surely gave him liberty to ask, and the right to receive.... As for that, love, such love as his, had royal rights and it would win its own way when the moment came. He would approach the subject gradually, talking about his coming departure, although he had mentioned that in his note, had even dared to tell her this must be his excuse for requesting an answer sooner than she wished to give it.
"Oh, what a lovely group of colors!" exclaimed Grace, involuntarily, pointing to a tree decked in the most gorgeous foliage.
"Shall I get some leaves for you?" he asked, anticipating her desire, and descended from the carriage.
Presently he returned, with his hands full of small branches. "They are lovely hues. Is there not something else you would like? I saw some beautiful ferns over yonder," he said, pointing to the spot.
"Will we have time? I would like to get out," she exclaimed eagerly.
"Time! 'There's time for all things,' Shakespeare says," laughed Mr. Carrington, as he assisted her to alight.
Grace was in her element amid the speaking grandeur of Nature's hills.
"Have you a sharp pencil, Mr. Carrington? I seem to have lost the one I always carry with me, and that grand oak tree I must have as a model."
He quickly sharpened one and gave it to her.