with her hand
outstretched.

I took her hand, and turning we moved down the walk while I still held
it in mine. Out of the blur of her figure, which swam in a mist, I saw
only her shining and happy eyes.

"It has been a thousand years," I answered, "but I knew that they would
pass."

"That they would pass?" she repeated.

"That they must pass. I have worked for that end every minute since I
saw you. I have loved you, as you surely know," I blurted out, "every
instant of my life, but I knew that I could offer you nothing until I
could offer you something worthy of your acceptance."

Reaching out her hand, which she had withdrawn from mine, she caught
several drifting elm leaves in her open palm.

"And what," she asked slowly, "do you consider to be worthy of my
acceptance?"

"A name," I answered, "that you would be proud to bear. Not only the
love of a man's soul and body, but the soul and body themselves after
they have been tried and tested. Wealth, I know, would not count with
you, and I believe, birth would not, even though you are a Bland--but I
must have wealth, I must have honour, so that at least you will not
appear to stoop. I must give you all that it lies in my power to
achieve, or I must give you nothing."

"Wealth! honour!" she said, with a little laugh, "O Ben Starr! Ben
Starr!"

"So that, at least, you will not appear to stoop," I repeated.

"I stoop to you?" she responded, and again she laughed.

"You know that I love you?" I asked.

"Yes," she replied, and lifted her eyes to mine, "I know that you love
me."

"Beyond love I have nothing at the moment."

A light wind swept the leaves from her hand, and blew the ends of her
white veil against my breast.

"And suppose," she demanded in a clear voice, "that love was all that I
wanted?"

Her lashes did not tremble; but in her eyes, in her parted red lips, and
in her whole swift and expectant figure, there was something noble and
free, as if she were swept forward by the radiant purpose which shone in
her look.

"Not my love--not yet--my darling," I said.

At the word her blush came.

"You say you have only yourself to give," she went on with an effort.
"Is it possible that in the future--in any future--you could have more
than yourself?"

"Not more love, Sally, not more love."

"Then more of what?"

"Of things that other men and women count worth the having!"

The sparkle returned to her eyes, and I watched the old childish
ar