Phyllis, leaning on Antony's arm, was full of thought, and Richard
and Elizabeth fell gradually a little behind them. In that soft light
her white garments and her fair loveliness had a peculiar charm. She
reminded Richard of some Greek goddess full of grace and large
serenity. He had resolved not to tell her how dear she was to him until
he had better prepared the way for such a declaration; but when the
time comes the full heart must speak, though it be only to call the
beloved one's name. And this was at first all Richard could say:

"Elizabeth! Dear Elizabeth!"

She recognized the voice. It was as if her soul had been waiting for
it. From the sweetest depths of her consciousness she whispered
"Richard," and with the word made over her full heart to him. They
stood one wonderful moment looking at each other, then he drew her
to his breast and kissed her. The sweetest strongest words of love
were never written. They are not translatable in earthly language.
Richard was dumb with happiness, and Elizabeth understood the silence.
As they rode home and sauntered up the terraces, Antony said, "What
a dull evening we have had;" but Phyllis was of the initiated, and
knew better. She looked at Elizabeth and smiled brightly, while Richard
clasped tighter the dear hand he was holding.

About an hour later Phyllis went to Elizabeth's room. It was a large
chamber open to the east and south, with polished oaken floors, and
hung with white dimity. She sat at one of the open southern windows,
and the wind, which gently moved the snowy curtains, brought in with
it the scent of bleaching clover. There was no light but that shadow
of twilight which, in English summers, lingers until it is lost in
the dawning. But it was quite sufficient. She turned her face to meet