"See what little white hands yours are," he said; "yet they hold a
life--a strong man's life. If you bade me stay, I would remain though
death were the penalty. If you bade me go, I would go and never look
upon a familiar face again."

"I do not like to say go, or stay," she replied, hesitatingly. "It is a
serious thing to interfere with a man's life."

"I have dared already more than I ever dreamed of daring. I have told
how rashly I have ventured to raise my eyes to the sun--you know my
presumption. I have dared to kneel at your feet, and tell you that you
are the star of my idolatry, the source of all my inspiration. You know
that, yet you will not punish my presumption by telling me to go?"

"I will not," she replied, gently.

"Then you are not angry with me? I did not know life held such happiness
as that. You know I love you? You are not angry?"

A sudden breeze stirred the apple blossoms, and they fell like a shower
on her fair head.

"You must pardon me if I am beside myself with joy. Looking on your
face, I grow intoxicated with your beauty, as men do with rare wines.
Ah, lady! in the years to come and in the great world people may love
you; but you shall look, and look in vain, for a love so true, so deep,
so devoted as mine."

"I believe it," she replied.