The young man had for some time been eagerly searching for the
daughter of the house. He answered absently, "I'm afraid it's too
late."

But a thought seemed suddenly to strike him. "Oh, Mrs. Hartvig," he
cried, "will you excuse me for a couple of minutes while I fetch a
bouquet for Miss Frederica?"

--Rebecca heard rapid steps approaching; she thought it could be no
one but he.

"Ah, are you here, Miss Rebecca? I have come to gather some violets."

She turned half away from him and began to pluck the flowers.

"Are these flowers for me?" he asked, hesitatingly.

"Are they not for Miss Frederica?"

"Oh no, let them be for me!" he besought, kneeling at her side.

Again his voice had such a plaintive ring in it--almost like that
of a begging child.

She handed him the violets without looking up. Then he clasped her
round the waist and held her close to him. She did not resist, but
closed her eyes and breathed heavily. Then she felt that he kissed
her--over and over again--on the eyes, on the mouth, meanwhile
calling her by her name, with incoherent words, and then kissing
her again. They called to him from the garden; he let her go and