all his
heart in his eyes, waiting for her next words,--may they not decide his
fate?--while she is feeling nothing in the world but a mad desire to
break into laughter,--a desire that arises half from nervousness, half
from an irrepressible longing to destroy the solemnity of the scene.

"A pinch for stale news," says she, at last, with a frivolity most
unworthy of the occasion, but in the softest, merriest whisper.

They are both young. The laugh is contagious. After a moment's struggle
with his dignity, he echoes it.

"You can jest," says he: "surely that is a good sign. If you were going
to refuse me you would not laugh. Beloved,"--taking her into his fond
arms again,--"say one little word to make me happy."

"Will any little word do? Long ago, in the dark ages when I was a
child, I remember being asked a riddle _a propos_ of short words.
I will ask it to you now. What three letters contain everything in the
world? Guess."

"No need to guess: I know. YES would contain everything in the world
for me."

"You are wrong, then. It is ALL,--all. Absurd, isn't it? I must have
been very young when I thought that clever. But to return: would
_that_ little word do you?"

"Say 'Yes,' Molly."

"And if I say 'No,' what then? Will you throw yourself into this small
river? Or perhaps hang yourself to the nearest tree? Or, worse still,
refuse to speak to me ever again? Or 'go to skin and bone,' as my old
nurse used to say I would when I refused a fifth meal in the day? Tell
me which?"

"A greater evil than all those would befall me: I should live with no
nearer companion than a perpetual regret. But"--with a shudder--"I will
not believe myself so doomed. Molly, say what I ask you."

"Well, 'Yes,' then, since you will have it so. Though why you are so
bent on your own destruction puzzles me. Do you know you never spoke to
me all this evening? I don't believe you love me as well as you say."

"Don't I?" wistfully. Then, with sudden excitement, "I wish with all my
heart I did not," he says, "or at least with only half the strength I
do. If I could regulate my affections so, I might have some small
chance of happiness; but as it is I doubt--I fear. Molly, do you care
for me?"

"At times,"--mischievously--"I do--a _little_."

"And you know I love you?"

"Yes,--it may be,--when it suits you."

"And you,"--tightening his arms round her,--"some time you will love
me, my sweet?"

"Yes,--perhaps so,--when it suits me."