at this was the hour for which he
had lived all his life, and, though he spoke nothing of this thought,
yet Anthea knew it, instinctively,--as she knew why he had avoided
looking at her hitherto, and what had caused the tremor in his voice,
despite his iron self-control; and, therefore, now that they were alone,
she spoke hurriedly, and at random:

"What--did he--Georgy mean by--your ship?"

"Why, I promised to take him a cruise in the yacht--if you cared to
come, Anthea."

"Yacht!" she repeated, "are you so dreadfully rich?"

"I'm afraid we are," he nodded, "but, at least, it has the advantage of
being better than if we were--dreadfully poor, hasn't it?"

Now, in the midst of the garden there was an old sun-dial worn by time,
and weather, and it chanced that they came, and leaned there, side by
side. And, looking down upon the dial, Bellew saw certain characters
graven thereon in the form of a poesy.

"What does it say, here, Anthea?" he asked. But Anthea shook her head:

"That, you must read for yourself!" she said, not looking at him.

So, he took her hand in his, and, with her slender finger, spelled out
this motto.

Time, and youthe do flee awaie, Love, Oh! Love then, whiles ye may.

"Anthea!" said he, and again she heard the tremor in his voice, "you
have been my wife nearly three quarters of an hour, and all that time I
haven't dared to look at you, because if I had, I must have--kissed you,
and I meant to wait--until your own good time. But Anthea, you have
never yet told me that you--love me--Anthea?"

She did not speak, or move, indeed, she was so very still that he needs
must bend down to see her face. Then, all at once, her lashes were
lifted, her eyes looked up into his--deep and dark with passionate
tenderness.

"Aunt Priscilla--was quite--right," she said, speaking in her low,
thrilling voice, "I have loved you--from the--very beginning, I think!"
And, with a soft, murmurous sigh, she gave herself into his embrace.

Now, far away across the meadow, Adam was plodding his homeward way,
and, as he trudged, he sang to himself in a harsh, but not unmusical
voice, and the words of his song were these:

"When I am dead, diddle diddle, as well may hap
You'll bury me, diddle diddle, under the tap,
Under the tap, diddle diddle, I'll tell you why,
That I may drink, diddle diddle, when I am dry."

THE END

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Money Moon, by Jeffery Farnol