“I am honoured in your love,” she answered gently.
“Ah! you can never know how sweet it is to hear that from your dear lips. I cannot tell you the madness of the joy that fills me, when I realise that I have found in you all I’ve ever dreamed of beauty, tenderness and purity. All the songs of life that poets dream and find no words in which to sing, I feel within. If you should send me from your presence now, I’d laugh at Death for I have tasted Life! To win your love is all I ask of this world or the next—You will let me try?”
“Yes,” said the low voice, as she placed her hand again in his.
“Then I must go,” he said, rising and lifting her from the seat—“I’ve said enough to-night. I must go before I dare say too much and break the spell of joy that holds me.”
At the door he asked.
“I may come again to-morrow?”
“Yes, at eight.”
He bowed and kissed the tips of her fingers.
“I may have something to say to you to-morrow,” she said seriously.
“I shall count the minutes of every hour that separates us.”