The dusky lover spake few words; but he indolently left
the path and gathered some sprays of wild flowers, and
offered them to the girl. His eyes had the same, wistful
look, and his brown fingers trembled as he offered the
bouquet. Receiving them, and pinning them under her
throat, she said in a low tone, while her voice trembled
a little,

"When these fade, I shall press the petals in my book,
and keep them always."

"Do you consider the flowers I gave you worth preserving?"
he asked, his low voice likewise trembling.

"I do."

"I would give more than that," he said, tenderly, "to
your keeping."

"Why," she enquired, with an unsuccessful attempt at
displaying wonder, "what is it that you would give to my
keeping?"

"My heart," the young man answered, his indolent eyes
lighting up in the gloaming. She said nothing, but hung
her head. The swarthy lover saw that she took no offence
at his declaration. Indeed he gathered from the quivering
of her red, moist lips, and from the tenderness in her
eye, that the avowal had more than pleased her. She