---"

He drew her closer, unresisting, and looked deep into her young eyes,
and kissed them, and then her lips, till they grew warmer and her breath
came fragrant and uneven.

"Can you love me?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Are you sure?"

"Y-yes."

For a moment's exquisite silence she rested her flushed face against his
shoulder, then lifted it, averted, and stepped aside, out of the circle
of his arms. Head lowered, she stood there, motionless in the starlight,
arms hanging straight; then, as he came to her, she lifted her proud
little head and laid both her hands in his.

"Of those things," she said, "that a woman should be to the man she
loves, and say to that man, I am ignorant. Even how to speak to
you--now--I do not know. It is all a dream to me--except that, in my
heart, I know that I do love you. But I think that was so from the
beginning, and after you have gone away I should have realized it some
day."

"You darling!" he whispered. Again she surrendered to him, exquisite in
her ignorance, passive at first, then tremulously responsive. And at
last her head drooped and fell on his shoulder, and he held her for a
little longer, then released her.

Trembling, she crept up the stairway to her room, treading lightly
along the dark entry, dazed, fatigued, with the wonder of it all. Then,
as she laid her hand on the knob of her bedroom door, the door of her
father's room opened abruptly.

"Molly?"

"Yes, dear," she answered vaguely.

He stood staring at her on the threshold, fully dressed, and she looked
back at him, her eyes slightly confused by the light.

"Where have you been?" he said.

"With Mr. Marche."

"Where?"

"To the dory--and back."

"What did he say to you, child?"

She came silently across the threshold and put her arms around his neck;
and the man lost every atom of his color.

"What did he say?" he repeated harshly.

"That he loves me."

"What!"

"It is true, father."

The man held her at arm's length roughly. "Good God!" he groaned, "how
long has this been going on?"

"Only to-night. What do you mean, father?"

[Illustration: "'He tells you that he--he is in love with you?'"]

"He tells you that he--he is in love with you? With _you_?" repeated
Herold unsteadily.

"Yes. It is true, too."

"You mean he asked you to marry him!"

"Yes. And I said I would."

"_You_ love _him_!"

The man's pallor frightened her silent. Then he dropped her arms, which
he had been