"Before you go, my darling," said St. Leon, suddenly, "there is one thing I should like to hear you say."
"Tell me what it is," she answered.
He took both her trembling hands in his and looked deep into her eyes with a piercing gaze that seemed to read her soul.
"Lift up your head, Beatrix, look straight into my eyes, and say, 'St. Leon, I love you.'"
Blushing "celestial, rosy red," she obeyed his fond command, and there was a depth of pathos and passion in her voice of which she was herself unconscious.
"St. Leon, I love you," she repeated from the depths of her adoring heart.
"My darling!" he caught her in his arms and strained her eagerly to his breast. "Forgive me for calling out your blushes so, but they are more lovely than your roses. Now good-night, my little love, but do not speak another word. Let those last sweet words live in my memory to-night."
He kissed her and put her gently from him, then stood at the door to watch the little white figure going lightly along the hall and up the wide polished stairway.
"Mine, mine, my little love!" he murmured, gladly. "How pleased and happy my mother will be!"
He went back into the room, threw himself down into a chair, and, true to his word, spent the remaining hours of the night in a happy vigil, dreaming over the sweet, new happiness which had come to him so strangely when his heart had been weighed down by despair.