, and you said
you would. Well, sometimes when we have met since, I have told you the
same story, and you've kept your promise and listened. Guida, I want
to go on telling you the same story for a long time--even till you or I
die."

"Do you--ah, then, do you?" she asked simply. "Do you really wish that?"

"It is the greatest wish of my life, and always will be," he added,
taking her unresisting hands.

"I like to hear you say it," she answered simply, "and it cannot be
wrong, can it? Is there any wrong in my listening to you? Yet why do I
feel that it is not quite right?--sometimes I do feel that."

"One thing will make all right," he said eagerly; "one thing. I love
you, Guida, love you devotedly. Do you--tell me if you love me? Do not
fear to tell me, dearest, for then will come the thing that makes all
right."

"I do not know," she responded, her heart beating fast, her eyes
drooping before him; "but when you go from me, I am not happy till I see
you again. When you are gone, I want to be alone that I may remember all
you have said, and say it over to myself again. When I hear you speak I
want to shut my eyes, I am so happy; and every word of mine seems clumsy
when you talk to me; and I feel of how little account I am beside you.
Is that love, Philip--Philip, do you think that is love?"

They were standing now. The fruit that hung above Guida's head was not
fairer and sweeter than she. Philip drew her to him, and her eyes lifted
to his.

"Is that love, Philip?" she repeated. "Tell me, for I do not know--it
has all come so soon. You are wiser; do not deceive me; you understand,
and I do not. Philip, do not let me deceive myself."

"As the Judgment of Life is before us, I believe you love me,
Guida--though I don't deserve it," he answered with tender seriousness.

"And it is right that you should love me; that we should love each
other, Philip?"

"It will be right soon," he said, "right for ever. Guida mine, I want
you to marry me."

His arm tightened round her waist, as though he half feared she would
fly from him. He was right; she made a motion backward, but he held her
firmly, tenderly. "Marry--marry you, Philip!" she exclaimed in trembling
dismay.

"Marry--yes, marry me, Guida. That will make all right; that will bind
us together for ever. Have you never thought of that?"

"Oh, never, never!" she answered. It was true, she had never thought
of that; there had not been time. Too much had come all