The lashes fell against her blushing cheeks as she murmured:
“I—I—how strange that you have learned to love me—like that—since only yesterday!”
“I loved you weeks before I ever met you,” was his startling reply; and as she cried out in wonder over that, he continued, fondly:
“A few weeks ago, in New York, a young lady loaned me some negatives to copy. She had made them with her camera while out in the mountains last summer, she said. Among these negatives were such charming views of a young girl, that I fell in love with the pictures as soon as I made them. I did not rest until I found out where the girl lived, her name, and, in short, all there was to learn about her. Then I took the train for West Virginia, and on arriving at Alderson I started out the same morning to find you, Leola; for, of course, you have guessed it was yourself! Directly my horse took fright; and only fancy my feelings when I saw you coming toward me on your white pony, a perfect vision of youth and joy and beauty, and realized that a horrible death might thrust us apart in another fatal moment. You saved my life, and can you wonder I look upon you as my fate—the fairest fate that ever life gave to a man?”
He paused, pressed the hand he held again ardently, and added, musingly:
“How strangely everything has come about! I thought I should have to get acquainted with you in a very proper way, and go through a ceremonious courtship before I proposed, but fate took it all out of my hands. Now, what have you to say to this, my dear girl? Will you let me hope to win your love?”
“It is yours already,” Leola confessed, with exquisite frankness; then, as he rapturously kissed her trembling hand, she exclaimed, in wonder at herself:
“Oh, perhaps you think I am too lightly won when I do not even know your name!”
“That can be remedied very soon. Call me Ray Chester, an artist, who wishes he were richer for your sweet sake.”
“Then you are poor?” Leola questioned, gravely.