he gazed at
her. But that he should speak now was a little sudden, and she wished
Diana had not left them alone. She tried to meet his eyes, but
something a little too ardent in them abashed her, and she looked out
into the darkness, nervously twisting and untwisting the thread of her
work.

He saw that she was taken aback, and tried somewhat to curb the eager
intensity that he felt was unnerving her.

"You are going away up there, and I shall be very anxious about you,"
he pleaded. "If you would only give me your promise before you go, and
let me have the right to follow at once if you are ill or anything, it
would make it so much easier."

She stood up, agitated, still gazing wistfully into the night.

"It is very sudden.... I did not know.... I hardly thought.... Have
you ... have you ... remembered everything?..."

"That you are English and I am Dutch?... What of it, Meryl?... I may
call you Meryl, mayn't I?... Are we not both South Africans?..."

He tried to take her hand and draw her to him, but she shrank away and
he did not urge it.

"Have you remembered it long enough?... Thought it out thoroughly?...
It all seems somehow so sudden."

"I have known long that I loved you. Does anything else really matter
if you can love me in return?"

"Ah!..." she breathed and stopped short.

She had liked him long. She had always liked him. Away from his
politics he was liked by most people. Huguenot blood was in his veins,
and it showed itself in a French charm of manner that came to him
naturally when he could get away from that bigoted, narrow obstinacy
that marred him. She felt he was a man who might be led to many
things, though driven to none. Because he attracted her she felt she
half loved the Huguenot side of him already. If only the other side
did not so insistently repel! Could it perhaps be overruled? Could she
love him truly enough to hold his love for ever, and through it lead
him to heights he might never even sight without her? Yet her eyes
were wistful, gazing out there at the dreaming stars, and her face
gleamed whiter and whiter.

This was not the love that whispered to her when she looked to the far
blue hills. This was not the consummation the high stars in far
infinities told her vaguely might some day bless her life.

And then he pleaded again in low-voiced eagerness, and in distress she
turned to him. "I'm so sorry. I can't bear to think of perhaps making
you unhappy. But ... but ... I'm