No one had ever talked of loving her before.
Perhaps the beauty of the May evening softened her and inclined her
heart to him; for after a few minutes' silence she said to him:
"We are forgetting the very object for which I consented to see you."
CHAPTER VI.
"It is no wonder," replied Allan Lyster. "I forget everything in
speaking to you. You do well, lady, in making me remember myself."
"Do not mistake me," she said gently. "I only thought time is flying,
and I have not said yet what I promised your sister I would say."
They had walked down the orchard, and they stood now under the spreading
boughs of a large apple tree--the pink and white blossoms made the
loveliest frame for that most fair face. She was lovely as the blossoms
themselves.
"I feel like a criminal," said Allan Lyster; "and as though you were my
judge. I tremble to know what you have to say."
"Yet it is not very terrible, Mr. Lyster. Your sister is my dearest
friend, and she tells me that you are thinking of going abroad. She is
very miserable over it. She fancies she should never see you again. I
promised her that I would persuade you to stay."
His face flushed--his eyes flashed--he bent over her.
"See what little white hands yours are," he said; "yet they hold a
life--a strong man's life. If you bade me stay, I would remain though
death were the penalty. If you bade me go, I would go and never look
upon a familiar face again."
"I do not like to say go, or stay," she replied, hesitatingly.
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