"You believe it, yet you are not angry with me? You hold my life in your
hands yet will not bid me go?"

He bent over her, his handsome face was glowing, his dark eyes flashing
fire.

"I could fancy myself in a dream," he said; "it is too strange, too
sweet to be true. There must be some intoxication in these apple
blossoms. Dare I ask you one more grace?"

"I have not been very unkind," she said.

"Will you let me sometimes see you? I will not presume upon your
kindness. Your face is to me what sunshine is to flowers. Do not turn
its light from me."

"You see me at the lessons," she said.

"Pardon me, I do not. I never dare to look at you; if I did, Miss
Carleton would soon know my secret. I am an artist, practiced to admire.
I may say what in others would be simple impertinence. You look so
beautiful, Miss Arleigh, with the sunlight falling on you through the
apple blossoms. Will you let me make a picture of you, just as you are
now? I could paint it well, for my whole heart would be in the work."

"I am willing," she said.

"And you will let me keep the picture when it is finished, and once or
twice before the lovely summer fades you will come out here and see me