"Are we not then?"

"When is your stepmother to know it?" she asked, rather dragging the
words out one after the other.

"Dear Elizabeth! These people at home here must notice nothing for--for
three months, when I shall be--" But he caught an expression now in her
face, and something in the abrupt way in which she drew her hand from
him, that made him keep back what he had originally intended to say, and
he corrected it hastily.

"Next week, then, I'll write from Arendal and tell my father, and then
let my stepmother know what I have written. Are you offended,
Elizabeth--dear Elizabeth? or shall I do it at once?" he broke out
resolutely, and seized her hand again.

"No, no--not now! next week--let it not be till next week," she cried,
in sudden apprehension, returning the pressure of his hand at the same
time almost entreatingly--it was the first he had had from her.

"And then you are mine, Elizabeth?"

"Yes, then"--she tried to avoid meeting his eye.

"Farewell, then, Elizabeth! But I shall come back on Saturday. I can't
live for longer without seeing you."

"Farewell!" she said, in a rather toneless voice.