carolle that utterly
precludes the idea of any deep feeling; after which she gives them her
own "Molly Bawn," and then, shutting down the piano, declares she is
tired, and that evidently John doesn't appreciate her, and so she will
sing no more.

Then comes the last morning,--the cruel moment when farewell must be
said.

The dog-cart is at the door; John is good-naturedly busy about the
harness; and, Letitia having suddenly and with suspicious haste
recollected important commands for the kitchen, whither she withdraws
herself, the lovers find themselves alone.

"Hurry, man; you will barely catch it," cries John, from outside,
meaning the train; having calculated to a nicety how long it would take
him to give and receive a kiss, now that he has been married for more
years than he cares to count.

Luttrell, starting at his voice, seizes both Molly's hands.

"Keep thinking of me always," he says, in a low tone, "always, lest at
any moment you forget."

Molly makes him no answer, but slowly raises to him eyes wet with
unshed tears. It is more than he has hoped for.

"Molly," he cries, hurriedly, only too ready to grasp this small bud of
a longed-for affection, "you will be sorry for me? There are tears in
your eyes,--you will _miss_ me? You love me, surely,--a little?"

Once more the lovely dewy eyes meet his; she nods at him and smiles
faintly.

"A little," he repeats, wistfully. (Perhaps he has been assuring
himself of some more open encouragement,--has dreamed of spoken
tenderness, and feels the disappointment.) "Some men," he goes on,
softly, "can lay claim to all the great treasure of their love's heart,
while I--see how eagerly I accept the bare crumbs. Yet, darling,
believe me, your sweet coldness is dearer to me than another woman's
warmest assertion. And later--who knows?--perhaps----"

"Yes, perhaps," says Molly, stirred by his emotion or by some other
stronger sentiment lying deep at the bottom of her heart, "by and by I
may perhaps bore you to death by the violence of my devotion.
Meantime"--standing on tiptoe, and blushing just enough to make her
even more adorable than before, and placing two white hands on his
shoulders--"you shall have one small, wee kiss to carry away with you."

Half in doubt he waits until of her own sweet accord her lips do verily
meet his; and then, catching her in his arms, he strains her to him,
forgetful for the moment of the great fact that neither time nor tide
waits