My two fair friends were seated in one of the west windows watching the sunset.  They rose, and each gave me her hand and welcomed me with the rare smiles I had learned to expect from them.  I drew a chair near to the window and we talked and laughed together merrily for a few minutes.  After a little time Dorothy excused herself, saying that she would leave Madge and me while she went into the bedroom to make a change in her apparel.

Madge and I sat for a few minutes at the window, and I said, “You have not been out to-day for exercise.”

I had ridden to Derby with Sir George and had gone directly on my return to see my two young friends.  Sir George had not returned.

“Will you walk with me about the room?” I asked.  My real reason for making the suggestion was that I longed to clasp her hand, and to feel its velvety touch, since I should lead her if we walked.

She quickly rose in answer to my invitation and offered me her hand.  As we walked to and fro a deep, sweet contentment filled my heart, and I felt that any words my lips could coin would but mar the ineffable silence.

Never shall I forget the soft light of that gloaming as the darkening red rays of the sinking sun shot through the panelled window across the floor and illumined the tapestry upon the opposite wall.

The tapestries of Haddon Hall are among the most beautiful in England, and the picture upon which the sun’s rays fell was that of a lover kneeling at the feet of his mistress.  Madge and I passed and repassed the illumined scene, and while it was softly fading into shadow a great flood of tender love for the girl whose soft hand I held swept over my heart.  It was the noblest motive I had ever felt.

Moved by an impulse I could not resist, I stopped in our walk, and falling to my knee pressed her hand ardently to my lips.  Madge did not withdraw her hand, nor did she attempt to raise me.  She stood in passive silence.  The sun’s rays had risen as the sun had sunk, and the light was falling like a holy radiance from the gates of paradise upon the girl’s head.  I looked upward, and never in my eyes had woman’s face appeared so fair and saintlike.  She seemed to see me and to feel the silent outpouring of my affection.  I rose to my feet, and clasping both her hands spoke only her name “Madge.”

She answered simply, “Malcolm, is it possible?” And her face, illumined by the sunlight and by the love-god, told me all else.  Then I gently took her to my arms and kissed her lips again and again and again, and Madge by no sign nor gesture said me nay.  She breathed a happy sigh, her head fell upon my breast, and all else of good that the world could offer compared with her was dross to me.

We again took our places by the window, since now I might hold her hand without an excuse.  By the window we sat, speaking little, through the happiest hour of my I life.  How dearly do I love to write about it, and to lave my soul in the sweet aromatic essence of its memory.  But my rhapsodies must have an end.