"That I may not see you again," the young man answered, with a smile.
She stooped to pick a flower. Every movement of her lithe, tall figure, every glance of her eye seemed to tighten her hold upon him. He stood dumb in the spell of her beauty, until she added, sorrowfully, "I am afraid of you, sir—I cannot help it."
"I wish I were less terrible," he answered, with a sigh.
"I will not see you again."
"But—but I love you," he said, simply.
"When I am here I am afraid—when I go away I am sorry." Her voice trembled as she spoke. "I have no peace any more. I cannot enjoy books or music. I cannot stay at home. I wander—all day I wander, and the night is long—and I hear the voices of children—like those I have heard here—calling me."
There was a note of sympathy in his voice when he answered, "It is the same with me, only it is your voice that I hear."
She looked up at him, her face full of wonder.
"I think no more of the many things I have to do, but only of one," he said, with feeling.
Miss Dunmore seemed not to hear him.