"Could not!" exclaimed Neville, in a dazed sort of manner. "Then I have been under a great mistake," and he walked on for a few minutes in silence.
"Miss Drayton," he said, after a pause, impelled by a sudden impulse and determined to know his fate, "I have long honoured and revered your character and person. This feeling has grown into a deep and ardent affection. Dare I hope that it is reciprocated? May I ask you to share the trials and, thank God, the triumphs of a Methodist preacher's life?" and he clasped her hand earnestly.
"Mr. Trueman," she faltered—but she withdrew not her hand—then, in a tenderer tone, "Neville, let me say, my heart has long been yours. Did you not know it? I fear not the trials if I may share the joys of service for the Master by your side," and she frankly placed her other hand in his.
Soft as fall the dews at even fell the holy kiss that sealed the plighted vows of these two young and loving hearts. Long they sat there on a mossy trunk beside the river's brink, in the golden twilight, beguiling the flying moments with sacred lovers' talk— to which it were sacrilege to listen and a crime to coldly report. At length, in the soft light of the crescent moon, they sauntered, she leaning confidingly upon his arm, slowly up the garden alley between the sweet June roses, breathing forth their souls in fragrance on the summer air.
Plucking a rich red rose, Neville placed it in her hair, saying,
"So may the immortal roses that the angel brought to St.
Cecilia—the virtues and the graces of the bride of Christ—bloom
forever in your garland of beauty and crown of rejoicing."
Then she, glowing with fairer loveliness beneath his fond caress, plucked a white rose from its stem and fastened it upon his breast with the words, "So, O beloved, wear thou the white flower of blameless life, breathing the fragrance of purity and holiness throughout the world."
Arm in arm the lovers passed on to the house and into the presence of the squire, who sat beneath the grape vine of the broad piazza enjoying his evening pipe.
"Squire Drayton," said Neville, in a tone of manly confidence, "I have come to ask your daughter's hand in marriage," and he put his arm protectingly around her, as she stood blushing at his side.
"Well, young man," said the old gentleman, taking his long "churchwarden" pipe from his mouth, "you ask that as coolly as though girls like Kate grew as plentifully as the grape clusters on this vine. There's not a man living good enough for my Kate— I'd have you know."
"I quite agree with you in that, squire," said the young man. "So much the greater my prize in winning her affection."