Ah, Heaven, the sweetness of that wooing voice, the glorious beauty of that face smiling down on her, the heaven of love in those eager, extended arms! Her tender heart went out to him with passionate yearning to grant his prayer:
"To grow, live, die, looking on his face,
Die, dying, clasped in his embrace!"
For a moment she could not speak. She leaned back dizzily against the tree with her half-shut eyes upon his face—leaned there silently, and heard the night breeze sighing over her head, the river lapsing at her feet, whispering over and over to her heart, "Regret! Regret! Regret!"
He would have taken her hand, but she waved him back.
"Precious, speak to me," he urged. "Why are you so strange? Has my impulsiveness offended you? I pray you forgive me."
She answered, in a low and hollow voice:
"Listen to the river. It is saying again and again those words you heard that day, 'Too late! Too late!'"
"Ah, no, my love, they are different now. Listen how clear and distinct the words, 'Love! Love! Love!'"
But she did not smile; he saw her shudder and draw back as he advanced to her side.