y that he had speech with Sabine, if she would let him come
back into her sitting-room. He knocked at the door softly, as was his
way, and when her voice said "_Entrez_" rather impatiently he did enter
and advance with diffidence. She was sitting with her back to the light
in one of the great window embrasures, so that he could not see the
expression upon her face--and her tone became gentle as she welcomed
him.

"The evening is so glorious, come and watch the sunset; but there is a
little look of thunder there in the far west--to-morrow we may have a
storm."

Henry sat down beside her on the orange velvet seat--and his eyes, full
of love and tenderness, sought her face beseechingly.

"I shall simply hate going the day after to-morrow, dearest," he said.
"If it were not for the sternest duty to my mother, I would ask you to
keep me until Friday--it will be such pain to tear myself away."

"You have been dear," she answered very low. "You have shown me what
real love in a man means--what tenderness and courtesy can make of life.
Henry--however wayward I may be, you will bear with me, will you not? I
want to be good and happy--" Her sweet voice, with its faintly French
accent, was full of pathos as a child's might be who is asking for
comfort and sympathy for some threatened hurt. "Oh! I want to be in the
sure shelter of your love always, so that storms like that one coming up
over there cannot touch me. I want you to make me forget--everything."

He was so deeply moved, tears sprang to his eyes--as he bent and kissed
her hands with reverence.

"My darling--you shall indeed be worshipped and protected and kept from
all clouds--only first tell me, Sabine, straight from your heart, do
you really and truly desire to marry me? I do not ask you to tell me
that you love me yet, because I know that you do not--but I want to know
the truth. If you have a single doubt whether it is for your happiness,
tell it to me--let there be no uncertainties between us--my dear
love----"

She was silent for a moment, while his tenderness seemed to be pouring
balm upon her troubled spirit.

"My God!" he cried, fearing her silence. "Sabine, speak to me--I will
not hold you for a second if you would rather be free--if you think I
cannot chase all sad memories away."

She put out her hand and touched his arm.

"If you will be content to take me, knowing that I have things to
forget--and if you will help me to forget them, then I know t