inevra, you don't mean you would?"

In the dull light, and with the imperfect means of Gibbie for the
embodiment of his thoughts, Ginevra misunderstood him.

"Yea, Gibbie," she said, "I would. I thought it was understood
between us, ever since that day you found me on Glashgar. In my
thoughts I have been yours all the time."

She turned her face to the lamp-post. But Gibbie made her look.

"You do not mean," he spelled very hurriedly, "that you would marry
me?--Me? I never dreamed of such a thing!"

"You didn't mean it then!" said Ginevra, with a cry--bitter but
feeble with despair and ending in a stifled shriek. "What have I
been saying then! I thought I belonged to you! I thought you meant
to take me all the time!" She burst into an agony of sobbing. "Oh
me! me! I have been alone all the time, and did not know it!"

She sank on the pavement at the foot of the lamp-post, weeping
sorely, and shaken with her sobs. Gibbie was in sad perplexity.
Heaven had opened before his gaze; its colours filled his eyes; its
sounds filled his ears and heart and brain; but the portress was
busy crying and would not open the door. Neither could he get at
her to comfort her, for, her eyes being wanted to cry with, his poor
signs were of no use. Dumbness is a drawback to the gift of
consolation.

It was a calm night early in March, clear overhead, and the heaven
full of stars. The first faint think-odour of spring was in the
air. A crescent moon hung half-way between the zenith and the
horizon, clear as silver in firelight, and peaceful in the
consciousness that not much was required of her yet. Both
bareheaded, the one stood under the lamp, the other had fallen in a
heap at its foot; the one was in the seventh paradise, and knew it;
the other was weeping her heart out, yet was in the same paradise,
if she would but have opened her eyes. Gibbie held one of her hands
and stroked it. Then he pulled off his coat and laid it softly upon
her. She grew a little quieter.

"Take me home, Gibbie," she said, in a gentle voice. All was over;
there was no use in crying or even in thinking any more.

Gibbie put his arms round her, and helped her to her feet. She
looked at him, and saw a face glorious with bliss. Never, not even
on Glashgar, in the skin-coat of the beast-boy, had she seen him so
like an angel. And in his eyes was that which triumphed, not over
dumbness, but over speech. It brought the rose-fire rushi