"Wrong! How would it be wrong, Celeste? I am sure my mother would not object; and as for him, what right has he to interfere with my marriage?"
"Oh, Louis! you know he has a guardian's right—a parent's right—to interfere. Besides," she added, blushing, "we are both too young to be married. Time enough these seven years."
"Seven years!" echoed Louis, laughing; "why, that would be as bad as Jacob and—Rachel. Wasn't that the name? Come, my dear Celeste, be reasonable. I cannot wait seven years, though very likely you could. During all those long years of absence the remembrance of you has cheered my loneliest hours. I looked forward impatiently to the time when I might return and see my Star of the Valley again. And now that I have come, you tell me to wait seven years! Say, Celeste, may I not ask my grandfather—and if he consents, will you not be mine?"
"I don't know—I'll think about it," said Celeste, timidly.
"And I know how that thinking will end. Here we are at the cottage. Good-night, my little white dove! To-morrow I will see you, and tell you his decision."
One parting embrace, and he turned away. Celeste stood watching him until he was out of sight, then turned to enter the cottage. As she did so, an iron grasp was laid on her shoulder, and a hoarse, fierce voice cried:
"Stop!"
Celeste turned, and almost shrieked aloud, as she beheld Minnette standing like a galvanized corpse before her.