It seemed so soft, so tender, so wonderfully
alluring. At the moment he could not understand himself or her. There
was a strange, surging impetus raging through him that he felt
absolutely powerless to subdue, and he swayed a little as he stood.

"Oh, Mysie!" he cried, leaping forward and clasping her in his strong,
young arms, and crushing her against him, holding her there, gasping,
powerless but happy.

"You are mine, Mysie. Mine!" and he kissed her budded lips in an ecstasy
of passion and warm-blooded feeling, while a thousand fevers seemed to
course through him as he felt the contact of her body and her warm,
eager lips on his. Blinded and delirious, he kissed her again and again
in an impassioned burst of fervor, passion scorching his blood and
filling his whole heart with the enjoyment of possession. She closed her
eyes, and her head touched his shoulder, while the faint scent of her
hair and its soft caressing touch upon his cheek maddened him to a fury
of love.

"Say you are mine, Mysie! Say you are mine!" he cried, and his voice was
strange and hoarse and dry with the desire within him. He felt her body
yielding as it relaxed in his arms, as if in answer to some unspoken
demand, and in a moment he realized himself and started back, hot shame
surging over his face and conquering the passion in his blood. In that
strange mad moment he had felt capable of anything--powerful,
overmastering, relentless in his desires; and now--weak, shame-stricken
and helpless. Ere he could say anything, Mysie had come to herself with
a shock, and started away over the moor as if possessed by something
that was mysterious and terrible.

That had happened a year ago, and though Robert sought to learn when she
was in the village, and often watched her from a safe place where he was
not seen, delighting his eyes with the sight of her figure, and feeling
again the same hot shame come over him, as he had known that day on the
moor, yet he had never met her near enough to speak to her, but had
worshiped her at a distance and grown to love and desire her more and
more with every day that passed.

He dreamed dreams around her, but was afraid to encounter her again.
This strange mad love burned in his blood, until at times he was almost
sick with desire and love. Every moor-bird called her name; every flower
held the shyness of her face; the clouds of peaceful sunsets showed the
glory of her hair, and the quiet, steadfast stars posses