'Yes—or rash. I have heard that it is not lucky for people to love each other so much as we do.'
'Could we love each other less?'
'I don't think so,' said she simply and sweetly, as he laid her cheek on his breast with her upturned eyes gazing into his.
The girl was slight and slender, yet perfect was every curve of her shapely figure, which was destitute of any straight line; even her nose was, in the slightest degree, aquiline. Her beautifully arched mouth, the scarlet line of her upper lip, and the full round of the nether one were parted in a tender smile, just enough to show her teeth, defied all criticism; her complexion was pure and soft, and her eyes were of the most liquid hazel, with almost black lashes. Her hair was of the same tint, and Flora seemed a lady to perfection, especially by the whiteness and delicacy of her beautifully shaped little hands.
When she walked she did so gracefully, as all Highland women do, and like them held her head poised on her slender neck so airily and prettily that her nurse, Madelon, called her 'the swan.'
'How I trembled, Lennard,' said she, after a pause, 'as I thought of the mauvais quart d'heure you were undergoing at Craigengowan.'
'It was a mauvais hour and more, darling.'
'And ever and anon I felt that strange chill, or shudder, which Nurse Madelon says people feel when some one crosses the place where their grave is to be. How can your parents be so cruel to you?'
'And to you, Flora!'
'Ah, that is different,' she replied, with her eyes full of unshed tears, and in a pained voice. 'Doubtless they consider me a very designing girl; but in spite of that, you will always care for me as much as you do now?'