other feeling than that of joy and triumph; and yet there was a
consciousness that no other answer but one was possible. In the first
place, to refuse him anything, asked in love, would be impossible.
She could not say No to him. She had struggled often in reference
to Mr. Gilmore, and had found it impossible to say Yes. There was
now the same sort of impossibility in regard to the No. She couldn't
blacken herself with such a lie. And yet, though she was sure of
this, she was so astounded by his declaration, so carried off her
legs by the alteration in her position, so hard at work within
herself with her new endeavour to change the aspect in which she must
look at the man, that she could not even bring herself to think of
answering him. If he would only sit down near her for awhile,--very
near,--and not speak to her, she thought that she would be happy.
Everything else was forgotten. Aunt Sarah's caution, Janet Fenwick's
anger, poor Gilmore's sorrow,--of all these she thought not at all,
or only allowed her mind to dwell on them as surrounding trifles, of
which it would be necessary that she, that they--they two who were
now all in all to each other--must dispose; as they must, also, of
questions of income, and such like little things. She was without a
doubt. The man was her master, and had her in his keeping, and of
course she would obey him. But she must settle her voice, and let her
pulses become calm, and remember herself before she could tell him
so. "Sit down again, Walter," she said at last.

"Why should I sit?"

"Because I ask you. Sit down, Walter."

"No. I understand how wise you will be, and how cold; and I
understand, too, what a fool I have been."

"Walter, will you not come when I ask you?"

"Why should I sit?"

"That I may try to tell you how dearly I love you."

He did not sit, but he threw himself at her feet, and buried his face
upon her lap. There were but few more words spoken then. When it
comes to this, that a pair of lovers are content to sit and rub their
feathers together like two birds, there is not much more need of
talking. Before they had arisen, her fingers had been playing through
his curly hair, and he had kissed her lips and cheeks as well as her
forehead. She had begun to feel what it was to have a lover and to
love him. She could already talk to him almost as though he were a
part of herself, could whisper to him little words of nonsense, could
feel that everything of hers w