the greed of youth. But now it is
swept and garnished, made as a fair shrine for a divine idol, for a
woman, for a girl, for an angel--for you!"

Beatrice looked very steadfastly upon the eager face of her lover while
she listened to his eager words, and when he paused she began to murmur
very softly the opening lines of one of the sonnets that Dante had
written in those days of his secrecy:

"The lady that is angel of my heart,
She knows not of my love and may not know--"

She stopped and looked at Dante as if she questioned him, and Dante
answered her by carrying on the lines:

"Until God's finger gives the sign to show
That I to her the secret may impart."

He paused for a moment, rejoicing to think that she had so far cherished
his verses; then he went on, eagerly: "God's finger gives me the sign
to-night, and I will speak, lest I die with the message of my soul
undelivered. I love you." It seemed to him that she must needs hear the
fierce beatings of his heart as he spoke these words.

Beatrice looked at him with a melancholy smile. "Is that the message of
your soul?" she asked.

And Dante answered: "That is my soul itself. All my being is uplifted by
my love for you. It has made a new heaven and a new earth for me: a new
heaven whither you shall guide me, a new earth where I shall walk more
bravely, and yet more warily, than of old, fearing nothing, for your
sake, save only to be found unworthy to say, 'I love you.'"

If Dante spoke with a passionate happiness in thus setting free his
soul, there was happiness too, in Beatrice's voice as she answered him.
"I am, indeed, content to hear you speak, for your words seem, as words
seldom seem in this city and in this world, to be quite true words. So
when you say you love me, I feel neither agitation, nor flattered
vanity, nor amazement--all which feelings, as I have read in books and
heard of gossips, are proper to maidens in these hours. Only I know that
I believe you, and that I am glad to believe you."

Dante interrupted her, crying her name with passionate
eagerness--"Beatrice!" But he kept the place where he stood.

The girl spoke again, finishing her thought. "And I think you will
always be worthy to offer love and to win love."

Dante moved a little nearer to her, and he stretched out his hands as
one that begs a great gift. "Beatrice," he entreated, "will you give me
your love?"

The smile that was partly kind and partly wist