"'Then certainly I must go away—at once—to-day,' you kept on, but you came straight across the room and placed your hands upon my shoulders. 'Just this once—just one time, sweetheart, then I'll go straight away and never see you again!'
"And that night, true to your promise, you did go away, but I followed you to the gates—and when I saw horses ready saddled there to take you away from me, the high resolves I had made came fluttering to earth. I put my hands up to your face and kissed you. During all the giddy joy of that day's confessional I had kept from doing this, but—not when I saw you leaving!
"'I wish that this kiss could mark your cheek—and let all the world know that you are mine,' I whispered, shivering against you in that first madness of fear over losing you.
"'You've made a mark!' you laughed fondly. 'A mark that I shall carry all the days of my life.'
"But I was still fearful.
"'You may know that you are marked, but how will the world—how will other women know that you are mine?'
"'The world shall know it,' you declared, brushing back my hair and kissing me again. 'There will never be another woman in my life—and some day, when I can paint your portrait, it will certainly know then. To me you are so very beautiful.'"
Another letter was just a note, addressed to London, and evidently written in great haste to catch a delayed post-bag.
"Oh, my dear, that orange tree of ours—that you and I planted together that day—is putting out tiny blossoms! Do you suppose it is a happy omen, Jim? How I have worked with it through this dreary winter—and now to think that it is blooming!
"Your dear hands have touched it! It is a living thing which can receive my caresses and repay their tenderness by growing tall and strong and beautiful—like you. Do you wonder that I love it?