"Marry me!" he cried, scarcely believing his ears—"Innocent! You will?—Dearest little love, you will?"
She looked down upon him where he knelt, like some small compassionate angel.
"Yes—I will!—To please you and Dad!—Tomorrow if you like! But you must say good-night now and let me sleep!"
He kissed her hand again.
"Good-night, sweet!"
She started—and drew her hand away.
"He said that once,—and once—in a letter—he wrote it. It seemed to me beautiful!—'Good-night, sweet!'" She waited as if to think a moment, then—
"Good-night!" again she said—"Do not be anxious about me—I shall sleep well! Good-night!"
She waved her hand once more, and disappeared like a little white phantom in the dark corridor.
"Does she mean it, do you think?" asked Robin, turning eagerly to
Priscilla—"Will she marry me, after all?"