"You will not forget me when I am far, far away from you, Lilian?"
"Oh, no—how could I forget?" said she, bending her timid eyes kindly and sadly upon him. There was a charm in her answer that bewildered her lover, and, unable to resist longer the ardour and impulses of his heart, he threw an arm around her, and, pressing her right hand to his breast, exclaimed, in a voice that trembled with emotion,
"I love you, Lilian—I have dared to love you long—oh, may I hope you will forgive me?"
He paused; but Lilian could make no reply. An instant she was pale, then a deep blush crimsoned her cheek; her long lashes veiled her humid eyes—and for the first time Walter pressed his lips to hers as she sank upon his breast.
"Oh, Lilian," he resumed, after a long pause. "Now on the eve of parting, and perhaps for ever, I could not leave you with this great secret preying upon my heart—without saying that I loved you. The hope, that when I am gone, you will think of me with sentiments more tender and more endearing than those of mere friendship will be my best incentive to become worthy of them. Dear Lilian, I am poor and nameless; save my heart and my sword, and the sod which shall cover me, I own nothing in all this wide world; but than mine, never was there a love more generous or more true. Long, long, adorable Lilian, have I loved you in secret, and loved you dearly."
There was no art in his declaration; it came straight from the soul, and his words, rich, deep, and full of feeling, thrilled through the agitated heart of the young girl. He sought no reply, no other avowal of her reciprocal love, than her beautiful confusion and eloquent silence. Immovable and breathless, she lay within his embrace, with the deepest blushes overspreading her whole face and neck. Her mild eyes were shaded by their lashes, and the charming expression of modesty imparted by their downcast lids increased the emotion of Walter; and closer to his breast he pressed her passive form till her heart throbbed against his own.
"O love, when womanhood is in the flush!"
Walter was intoxicated. The purple hood of Lilian had fallen back, and the braids of her fair hair drooped upon his breast; his dark hair mingled with them, and their locks sparkled like gold in the glow of the set sun, as its last rays streamed down the long shady walk.
Short as the interview was, an age seemed to be comprised within its compass; the lovers were in a little world of their own—or with them the external world seemed to stand still. They were all heart and pulse, and overwhelmed with an emotion which the orthography of every human language has failed to pourtray.
But anon, the first glow of ardour and excitement passed away, and the memory of their parting fell like a mountain on their hearts. Lilian hung half embraced by Walter's arm; and a shower of tears relieved her.