She looked up in his face shyly, yet trustfully, and then putting her hand in his, said: "Never, until I knew you, Lucian; and always since, I think, except—"
She hesitated, and the color fled out of her face.
"Except when I think that the day draws near when you will leave me. And when the great world has swallowed you up, you will forget the 'little girl' you found in the woods, perhaps."
A smile flitted across the face of the listener, and he turned away for a moment to conceal the lurking devil gleaming out of his eyes. Then, flinging away his half finished cigar, he took both her hands in his, and looking down into her clear eyes, said:
"Then don't let me go away from you, beauty. Don't stay here to make dismal meditations among the gloomy trees. Don't pass all the weary Winter with Curmudgeon, who will marry you to an old bag of gold. Come with me; come to the city and be happy. You shall see all the glories and beauties of the gay, bright world. You shall put dull care far behind you. You shall be my little Queen of Hearts, to love and care for always. Sweetheart, will you come?"
He was folding her close now, and she nestled in his arms with perfect trustfulness, with untold happiness shining in her bright eyes. She was in no haste to answer his eager question, and he smiled again; and once more the lurking devil laughed out of his eyes. But he held her tenderly to him, in silence for a time, and then lifted the blushing face to meet his own.
"Look up, Aileen, my own! Is it to be as I wish? Will you leave this place with me to-morrow night?"
The girl drew back with a start of surprise. "You—you surely are not going to-morrow, Lucian," and the gentle voice trembled.
"I must, little one—have just received a letter calling me back to the city. Your sweet face has already kept me here too long. But I shall take it back with me, shall I not, love; and never lose it more?"
The girl was silent. She loved him only too well, and yet this peremptory wooing and sudden departure struck upon her naturally sensitive nerves as something harsh and unpleasant. She would not leave behind much love, would be missed by few friends, and yet—to leave her home once was to leave it forever, and it was home, after all. She looked at the man before her, and a something, her good angel perhaps, seemed, almost against herself, to move her to rebel.