"It must have been because I blushed so when you spoke to me first," she answered shyly.
"No, no! Guess again."
"I can't guess, I'm sure. I never thought why it was—only that it was a pretty name, and nice of you to call me so."
"Did you think I should give you an ugly name?" said the young man, with a laugh. "But there's much in that name, if you only knew."
"Perhaps I know." She looked at him trustingly as she spoke.
"Not altogether. But never mind—I'll tell you some of it, though. See, this last spring was all so wonderful to me, somehow, and I was happy just to be alive. But then came the summer, and autumn: the grass began to wither, and the leaves turned yellow, and it made my heart ache to see."
"You weren't happy last summer?" she asked tenderly.
"No. You see, I could not forget the spring that had been so wonderful, and I was longing for it all the time. If I'd stayed in the same place, then perhaps…. But I'm a wanderer, once and for all…."
"Why do you never stay anywhere?"
"'Tis my nature, I suppose," he answered, staring before him.