I led her along to the house, and then led her back, until we came to the same little step on the fence,—­with full faith, now, that it would be given me in this hour what to say.

I seated her exactly as she was before, with the moon shining full in her face.  Then I took my stand, leaning against the fence, just the same.  How beautiful she was in the moonlight!

“And is there anybody,” said I, as if continuing the conversation, “that you do love as Jane did?”

My voice, though, was far less steady than at the other time.

“Mr. Turner,” she exclaimed, starting up, with flashing eyes and glowing cheeks, “you’ve no right to ask me such a question!”

That blushing by moonlight!  It was too much to be endured with calmness.  I felt myself giving way before it.

But I sha’n’t tell any more.  It’s no sign, because a man opens his heart, that he should let everything drop out of it.

If those interested know, that, at my earnest request, she gave me the right to ask not only that question, but others which would naturally follow, they know enough.

I would willingly tell them, though, if our English language had a few thousand words added to it, how delightful it was to know that this sweet wild-rose had been blossoming for me, that our singing-bird had been singing for me!  I am willing to tell, too, how foolish I felt, when the deceitfulness of the human heart, of my own human heart, became apparent; when I found that I had been loving for myself, while I thought I was loving for David,—­that I had been jealous for myself, and not for him; when I found that I had been studying my chapter, without regarding the notes underneath.

And being at last put upon the right track, I found it taking me a long way backwards.  It took me away to the beginning, when Mary Ellen first came across the entry, and showed me that then and there the arrow was sped, and love went where it was sent.  I had misgivings, even, of having taken a portion of the dark liquid in the little bottle.  I could perceive the drawing of the “chain,” and almost feel the “lassoo” about my neck.

“Lawyer, indeed!  And wonderfully sharp at cross-questioning, when you couldn’t draw a secret from a woman!  Lawyer, indeed!  Of great penetration, that couldn’t read a young girl’s heart, when it lay open before you,—­that couldn’t read your own!  You’d better give up the profession, and go to painting.  That suits you better.  Beauty is your chief delight, after all.  Not only beauty of face, but beauty of everything under the sun.  Go sit in your crotch among the green boughs and paint landscapes!”

It was full four years ago that I thus inveighed against myself, and just about a year from the time when I took up the moonlight talk where it had been left off, and finished it so charmingly.  We two were taking a long stroll together, and had been making our mutual confessions,—­our man-and-wife confessions.