We had now reached her door, and she said she must go in. I persuaded
her, however, to wait a little while longer before she knocked, as I
could not say `Good-night' yet. Parting was too hard, though sweet.
So, we talked on in whispers to one another for some minutes--it may
have been hours, for all I know to the contrary--what might be to you
only a lot of uninteresting talk, but, what was heaven to me!
"Good-night, Frank!" Min said at length. "I really must go in now, or
mamma will think me lost. And, O Frank!" she exclaimed in alarm, as the
sudden thought struck her--"what _will_ she say when she hears of this!"
"Oh, never mind thinking of that now!" I said. "I will come round to-
morrow afternoon, sweet, and ask her whether I may be allowed to hope,
and win you for my own dear, darling little wife!"
We were standing close together in the porch, just under the gas-light.
I was gazing into her eyes, which seemed to me ever so much brighter
than the light of the lamp above us, or the stars overhead.
The little ear next me got quite pink.
She quickly bent down her head in confusion.
"You mustn't call me names, Frank!" she said. "I won't have it, sir! I
won't have it! You have no right!"