ascent, and to hear her sweet voice in low, gentle tones breathing in
his ear. It was a fine, clear night, and for all her lowness of spirits,
Morgianna kept looking up at the stars in a manner so bewitching that
Fernando was clear out of his senses, and plainly showed that, if ever a
man were over head and ears in love, that man was himself. The path they
were ascending was quite steep, and Fernando could not help glancing at
the pretty little hand, encased in a cream-colored kid glove, resting on
his arm. If Fernando had known that an executioner were behind him with
an axe raised, ready to cut off his head if he touched that hand, he
could not have helped doing it. From putting his own right hand upon it
as if by chance, and taking it away again after a minute or so, and then
putting it back again, he got to walking along without taking it off at
all, as if he, the escort, were bound to do that as an important duty,
and had come for that purpose. The most curious thing about this little
incident was, that Morgianna did not seem to know it. She looked so
innocent and unconscious when she turned her eyes on Fernando, that it
was quite provoking.

She talked about the sea, the hills, the rocks, the sky, the stars,
while the old men went on ahead, and when she slipped on the verge of a
precipice three feet high and came near falling into a pool of dirty
water, and he saved her from the fall by his coolness and daring, she
thanked him and told him how grateful she was that he was near, and he
said something about how happy he would be to be always near her, to
guard her footsteps along life's rugged pathway. Then she said something
to the effect that it would be pleasant if one could always have one's
friends near, and that she hoped they would always be friends from that
time forth. And when Fernando said, "not friends" he hoped, Morgianna
was quite surprised and said not enemies she hoped; and when Fernando
suggested that they might be something better than either, Morgianna,