ough the
recollection overcomes him, he gives away to uncontrollable mirth.

"Such unseemly levity!" says Mrs. Bohun, in a disgusted tone; but, after
the vaguest hesitation, she laughs too.

"Come to the orchard," says Ronayne; and to the orchard they go. Here,
finding a rustic seat at the foot of a gnarled and moss-grown
apple-tree, they take possession of it.

"It is very unfortunate," says Olga, with a sigh. Her fair hair is being
blown like a silver cloud hither and thither and renders her
distractingly pretty.

"You mean our betrayal by that child?"

"Yes. I hope it will cure you of ever being so silly as to go on your
knees to any woman again."

"I shall never go on my knees to any woman but you, whether you accept
or reject me."

"I am sure I don't know how I am ever to face those people inside
again." Here she puts one dainty little finger to her lips and bites it
cruelly.

"There is nothing remarkable in having one's _accepted_ lover at one's
feet."

"But you are not that," she says, lifting her brows and seeming half
amused at his boldness.

"By one word you can make me so."

"Can I? What is the word?"

This is puzzling; but Mr. Ronayne, nothing daunted says,--

"You have only to say, 'you are,' and I am."

"It isn't Christmas yet," says Mrs. Bohun: "you shouldn't throw
conundrums at me out of season. It is too much? 'you _are_ and I _am_.'
I couldn't guess it, indeed; I'm anything but clever."

"If you say the 'I will,' you will find the solution to _our_ conundrum
at once."

"But that is two words."

"Olga, does the fact that I love you carry no weight with it at all."

"But do you love me--_really_?"

"Need I answer that?"

"But there are others, younger, prettier."

"Nonsense! There is no one prettier than you in this wide world."

"Ah!" with a charming smile, "now indeed I believe you do love me, for
the Greek Cupid is blind. What a silly boy you are to urge this matter!
For one thing I am older than you."

"A year or two."

"For another----"

"I will not listen. 'Stony limits cannot hold love out:' why, therefore,
try to discourage me?"

"But you should think----"

"I think only that if you will say what I ask you, I shall be always
with you, and you with me."

"What is _your_ joy is _my_ fear. Custom creates weariness! And--'the
lover in the husband may be lost!'"

"Ah! you have thought of me in that light," exclaims the young man,
eagerly. "Beloved if you will