“God give you love and luck, young sir.  I am eighty-three now, and sair failed; but I was once twenty-three, and young and lusty as you be.  But life is at the fag end with me now.  God save us all!” Then, with a meaning look at the two pretty girls watching him, he went slowly off, droning out to a monotonous accompaniment, an old love ballad:—­

    “Picking of lilies the other day,
     Picking of lilies both fresh and gay,
     Picking of lilies, red, white, and blue,
     Little I thought what love could do.”

“‘Little I thought what love could do,’” Julius repeated; and he sang the doleful refrain over and over, as they strolled back to the oak under which they had had their little feast.  Then Sophia, who had a natural love of neatness and order, began to collect the plates and napkins, and arrange them in the basket; and this being done, she looked around for the housemaid in order to put it in her charge.  The girl was at the other end of the field, and she went to her.

Charlotte had scarcely perceived what was going on.  The old man’s singing had made her a little sad.  She, too, was thinking of “what love could do.”  She was standing under the tree, leaning against the great mossy trunk.  Her brown hair had fallen loose, her cheeks were flushed, her lips crimson, her whole form a glowing picture of youth in its perfect beauty and freshness.  Sophia was out of hearing.  Julius stepped close to her.  His soul was in his face; he spoke like a man who was no longer master of himself.

“Charlotte, I love you.  I love you with all my heart.”

She looked at him steadily.  Her eyes flashed.  She threw downward her hands with a deprecating motion.

“You have no right to say such words to me, Julius.  I have done all a woman could do to prevent, them.  I have never given you any encouragement.  A gentleman does not speak without it.”

“I could not help speaking.  I love you, Charlotte.  Is there any wrong in loving you?  If I had any hope of winning you.”

“No, no; there is no hope.  I do not love you.  I never shall love you.”

“Unless you have some other lover, Charlotte, I shall dare to hope”—­

“I have a lover.”

“Oh!”

“And I am frank with you because it is best.  I trust you will respect my candor.”

He only bowed.  Indeed, he found speech impossible.  Never before had Charlotte looked so lovely and so desirable to him.  He felt her positive rejection very keenly.

“Sophia is coming.  Please to forget that this conversation has ever been.”

“You are very cruel.”

“No.  I am truly kind.  Sophia, I am tired; let us go home.”

So they turned out of the field, and into the lane.  But something was gone, and something had come.  Sophia felt the change, and she looked curiously at Julius and Charlotte.  Charlotte was calmly mingling the poppies and wheat in her hands.  Her face revealed nothing.  Julius was a little melancholy.  “The fairies have left us,” he said.  “All of a sudden, the revel is over.”  Then as they walked slowly homeward, he took Sophia’s hand, and swayed it gently to and fro to the old fiddler’s refrain,—­