"Then, why don't you?"
Bob looked around him, like one afraid. They were beneath the shadow of a great rock. At their feet was headland grass, wind-swept and grey, but peeping through the grass were thousands upon thousands of wild thyme, giving the little plateau a purple hue. They were hidden from the gaze of any who might be on the great rock. His heart beat so that his breath came with difficulty; he was trembling with a new-found joy—a joy so great that it almost gave him pain.
"Oh, my love!—my love!" he cried, as he took her in his arms, and his kisses were as pure as those with which a young mother lasses her firstborn.
"What haven't I asked you?" he said, a few minutes later.
They were sitting beneath the shadow of the rock now, and Nancy was rearranging her hat. She did not reply, but her eyes were full of gladsome mischief as she looked at him.
"I mean just now, when—when you said you had been telling me that you loved me, but I hadn't asked for something. What was it?"
"You've made up for it since," and there was a laugh in her voice.
"Do you mean that you wanted me to kiss you? Oh, you are right, Nancy,
I am an awful coward, but I'll make up for lost time now."
The sea continued to roll on the great rugged rock, which threw its mighty head far out into its depths. Overhead the sea-birds hovered, sailing with graceful motion over the silvery waters, and uttering their mournful cry, while far out vessels ploughed their way up and down the Atlantic; but neither noticed. They were happy in each other's love. Nancy had forgotten the fact that Robert Nancarrow was not the kind of man she had meant to love, while he was far too happy to care for the lecture she had given him. Her kisses were warm upon his lips, her words of love rung in his ears. They were in the dreamland of happy lovers, while the sky of their lives was as free from clouds as the great dome of blue overhead. He was the only man she had ever loved, or ever could love, while to him the maid, wilful and passionate though she might be, was perfect. What were books, learning, and the fame of scholarship to him now? He had won the love of the girl whom for years he had loved, and ever despaired of winning. She, who had seemed so far away from him, so far above him, had come to his arms, willingly, gladly. She, with her proud old name, and almost lordly wealth, had chosen him, and forgotten everything in her choice.
It seemed too wonderful to be true, and he looked at her again and again in his wonder, proud beyond all words, yet almost afraid to believe in his good fortune.