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or I have frightened you. Sit here; no, here, on the sofa, and I will lie at your feet.'

His manner of submissive domination overmastered her. She sat on the sofa as he bade her; and he actually threw himself on the ground at her feet. He took her hand, and she did not resist. There was a moment of silence.

'You have forgiven me?' he said, turning his head round towards her; and you will tell me why you were angry with me to-day, Gabrielle ?'

'Because I humbled myself as no woman ought to do, and you seemed ashamed to meet your brother's eyes. What wrong had I done to your brother? what had I to be ashamed of?'

"Oh, no, not you, but I; at least, I felt so for the moment. Look here, Gabrielle, listen. He told me again and again how fond he was of you; he told me he was going to ask you to marry him. You know how good, and kind, and brotherly-more than brotherly -he has been to me. How could I help feeling afraid to look him in the face, and confess that I had come between him and his hopes? If I had ever known, or ever thought or suspected, or anything-but how could

I suspect? How could I think a woman like you could care about a ne'er-do-well like me? Why, I remember once saying that if you would only have the goodness to trample on me, I should be only too happy. Good heavens! how could I fancy that you would care about me? I should never have believed it, if you had not told me yourself.'

'I don't know why I told you,' Gabrielle said; but I could not help it then, and I felt that it was right at the time. Why should I allow you to go away from England, if-if that was all?'

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Ay, why indeed, why indeed? dreamed of such a thing, Gabrielle.

But I never

I thought you

would very likely marry my brother; and, much as I love Wilberforce now, I could not stay and see that. Can you wonder if I was afraid to meet him? I have taken you from him; he may even think I was treacherous to him, and deceived him. You can under stand this, Gabrielle, Gabrielle?' He seemed to take a delight in the mere repeating of her name. 'You forgive me, Gabrielle ?'

'Yes,' she said. 'I felt bitter at the moment. I think I was angry with myself more than with you;

but I understand now better, and I know it must be a trying thing to you to have to meet your brother. But you will tell him all the truth, just as it is; and he will believe you. He is so loyal and true himself."

'And you do care for me, Gabrielle?' He sank his voice into a wonderful softness of tone. You love me?'

Oh yes, I said that before. Nothing can change that.' She felt him press her hand to his lips. There was a moment's silence. She was glad that the dusk was deepening, so that even her lover could not see her face.

very soon.

'Now,' she said, you must go. You must leave me, for this time. We can see each other soon again; I will write. Is not that the best way? But this is all so strange now, everything in the world. seems changed. Yow must give me time to collect my senses. You will go my friend?'

She did not know yet by what name to call him. It was all too new and sudden for her to venture on a tenderer word. But her tremulous voice gave an unspeakable tenderness to the word; and he was satisfied.

'Yes; I will go,' he said. 'I will steal out as I

stole in. I should not like this first time to leave you as a common visitor does. I came like a lover, and I will go away like a lover; and so good-bye, Gabrielle. He drew her down towards him, as he still reclined on the floor at her feet; and she felt his lips press hers. And then he leaped lightly to his feet, and vanished, as it were, in the dusk. He had come as a lover in a sort of romantic secrecy; and he had gone as a lover should go. Gabrielle sat in the soft gloom of the evening, and felt that if 'twere now to die 'twere now to be most happy. All her life before had seemed. lonely and bare, a mere dull mistake, until this moment. Is it possible,' she thought, that this can last; that happiness like this moment's is not to be paid for by some misfortune?' There came strangely across her mind the saying of some saint: Truly the damned ones are miserable, for they cannot love.'

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Then she rang for lights, and tried to look and feel like some commonplace person to whom nothing in particular has happened.

CHAPTER II.

'WHEN FALLS THE MODEST GLOAMING.'

THE two Scottish poets, Burns and Hogg, have dealt with the same text in the poem of each which sings of the love who is but a lassie yet.' The lover pictured by the Ettrick Shepherd is in very ecstasy of happiness, and in the highest mood of human confidence. Nothing can be less than sacred for him which has been touched, or praised, or looked on by his love 'who's but a lassie yet.' The stream so glassy, the modest gloaming, the birds that sing, the grass that grows green around the feet of the loved one, the very wind that kisses her, the flowery beds on which she treads-all come in for the poet's love and praise. How otherwise is it with Burns's disappointed hero! This lover has been hardly entreated by his love who's but a lassie yet.' He only thinks of letting her stand a year

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