“Shall I help you?” said Ashton, approaching her. “My patience used to be a proverb with you.”
Mary could not trust herself to answer, for her fingers were actually trembling with agitation. She felt she could have sunk into the floor. She proffered the silk without looking up. Ashton took hold of one end while she retained the other. Neither spoke; but Mary’s bosom heaved tumultuously, while Ashton felt his heart in his throat. At length, in mutually untangling the skein, their hands met. The touch thrilled them like lightning. Ashton almost unconsciously retained the hand of his cousin in his own. She trembled violently.
“Mary!” he said.
She looked half doubtingly, half timidly up.
“Mary, we love each other—do we not?”
There was no answer, but as he pressed the fingers lying passively in his grasp, the pressure was gently returned, and, bursting into tears, his cousin fell upon his bosom.
And Ashton and Mary have been wedded for years, but their honey-moon still continues, for they have not yet quarrelled.
THE PRECIPICE.
There is a rock whose craggy brow