"Comes a little cloudlet 'twixt ourselves and heaven,
And from all the river fades the silver track;
Put thine arms around me, whisper low, Forgiven,
See how on the river starlight settles back!"
Lord Lytton.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
When Anthony was looking down upon the fir-trees, there were two people
standing under them, and talking earnestly. One of them was putting out
her hand and saying in a voice which was very sad and kind,--
"I believe I am a hundred years older than you, Frank. Do people's
hearts go on getting older and older at this rate, I wonder? I don't
seem to feel as if all that you are saying could be so. Perhaps I am
beginning not to feel anything any more."
"Don't disbelieve me," Frank said eagerly. "That is all I ask you,
Winifred. Only try to believe how dearly I love you, and trust me, or
let me have time to show you."
She did not turn away from him, she did not even take away her hand
which he had clasped, and yet nothing in her attitude or in her eyes
seemed to have grown nearer to him during that moment in which they
stood so close to each other under the fir-trees, a little hidden from
the soft, warm sun. Winifred stood as if she were thinking, but it
might have been of something outside herself, and with which she was
only concerned as a looker-on. Her face was tenderly grave, but Frank
sought in vain for any glow which should answer his. She was silent so
long, however, that at last he could bear it no longer, and said in a
voice which was all uneven and broken,--
"What do you say, Winifred? You will not refuse me that one little
promise?"