here is nothing else in the world of which I am so sure, Lily. What I
wish to be as sure of is that you love me as I love you.'

For a moment she stood quiet, her head sunk almost to her breast, then
she lifted it and her eyes shone as I had never seen them shine before.

'Can you doubt it, Thomas?' she said.

And now I took her in my arms and kissed her on the lips, and the memory
of that kiss has gone with me through my long life, and is with me yet,
when, old and withered, I stand upon the borders of the grave. It was
the greatest joy that has been given to me in all my days. Too soon,
alas! it was done, that first pure kiss of youthful love--and I spoke
again somewhat aimlessly.

'It seems then that you do love me who love you so well.'

'If you doubted it before, can you doubt it NOW?' she answered very
softly. 'But listen, Thomas. It is well that we should love each other,
for we were born to it, and have no help in the matter, even if we
wished to find it. Still, though love be sweet and holy, it is not all,
for there is duty to be thought of, and what will my father say to this,
Thomas?'

'I do not know, Lily, and yet I can guess. I am sure, sweet, that he
wishes you to take my brother Geoffrey, and leave me on one side.'

'Then his wishes are not mine, Thomas. Also, though duty be strong, it
is not strong enough to force a woman to a marriage for which she has no
liking. Yet it may prove strong enough to keep a woman from a marriage
for which her heart pleads--perhaps, also, it should have been strong
enough to hold me back from the telling of my love.'

'No, Lily, the love itself is much, and though it should bring no fruit,
still it is something to have won it for ever and a day.'

'You are very young to talk thus, Thomas. I am also young, I know, but
we women ripen quicker. Perhaps all this is but a boy's fancy, to pass
with boyhood.'

'It will never pass, Lily. They say that our first loves are the
longest, and that which is sown in youth will flourish in our age.
Listen, Lily; I have my place to make in the world, and it may take a
time in the making, and I ask one promise of you, though perhaps it is a
selfish thing to seek. I ask of you that you will be faithful to me, and
come fair weather or foul, will wed no other man till you know me dead.'

'It is something to promise, Thomas, for with time come changes. Still I
am so sure of myself that I promise--nay I swear it. Of you I cannot
be sure