"Yes," she murmured softly, almost dreamily, "I am answered."

"Jessie." The young man's breath was on her cheek--his hand touching
her hand. She remained sitting very still--still as an effigy.

"Jessie." How very low, and loving, and musical was the voice that
thrilled along the chords of feeling! "Jessie; forgive me if I have
mistaken the signs." His hand tightened upon hers. She felt
spell-bound. She wished to start up and flee. But she could not.
There was a strange, overshadowing, half paralyzing power in the
man's presence. Without a purpose to do so, she returned the
pressure of his hand. It was enough.

"Thanks, dear one!" he murmured. "I was sure I had not mistaken the
signs. The heart has language all its own."

Still the maiden's form was motionless; and her hand lay passive in
the hand that now held it with a strong clasp. Yet, how wildly did
her heart beat! How tumultuous were all her feelings! How delicious
the thrill that pervaded her being!

"I love you, Jessie! Dear one! Angel! And by this token you are
mine!" said Dexter, his voice full of passion's fine enthusiasm. And
he raised her hand to his lips, kissing it half-wildly as he did so.

"The gods have made this hour propitious!" he added, as he drew her
head down against his bosom, and laid his ardent lips to hers.
"Bless you, darling! Bless you!" he went on. "My life is crowned
this hour with its chiefest delight! Mine! mine!"