“The evening is so glorious, come and watch the sunset; but there is a little look of thunder there in the far west—­to-morrow we may have a storm.”

Henry sat down beside her on the orange velvet seat—­and his eyes, full of love and tenderness, sought her face beseechingly.

“I shall simply hate going the day after to-morrow, dearest,” he said.  “If it were not for the sternest duty to my mother, I would ask you to keep me until Friday—­it will be such pain to tear myself away.”

“You have been dear,” she answered very low.  “You have shown me what real love in a man means—­what tenderness and courtesy can make of life.  Henry—­however wayward I may be, you will bear with me, will you not?  I want to be good and happy—­” Her sweet voice, with its faintly French accent, was full of pathos as a child’s might be who is asking for comfort and sympathy for some threatened hurt.  “Oh!  I want to be in the sure shelter of your love always, so that storms like that one coming up over there cannot touch me.  I want you to make me forget—­everything.”

He was so deeply moved, tears sprang to his eyes—­as he bent and kissed her hands with reverence.

“My darling—­you shall indeed be worshipped and protected and kept from all clouds—­only first tell me, Sabine, straight from your heart, do you really and truly desire to marry me?  I do not ask you to tell me that you love me yet, because I know that you do not—­but I want to know the truth.  If you have a single doubt whether it is for your happiness, tell it to me—­let there be no uncertainties between us—­my dear love——­”

She was silent for a moment, while his tenderness seemed to be pouring balm upon her troubled spirit.

“My God!” he cried, fearing her silence.  “Sabine, speak to me—­I will not hold you for a second if you would rather be free—­if you think I cannot chase all sad memories away.”

She put out her hand and touched his arm.

“If you will be content to take me, knowing that I have things to forget—­and if you will help me to forget them, then I know that I want to marry you, Henry—­just as to-night perhaps that little sail we see out there will long to get in to a safe port.”

He gave her his promise—­with passionately loving words, that he would protect and adore her always, and soothe and cherish her until all haunting memories were gone.

And for the first time since they had known one another, Sabine let him fold her in his arms.

But the lips which he pressed so fondly were cold, like death—­and afterwards she went quickly to her room.

The die was irrevocably cast—­she could never go back now; she was as firmly bound to Henry as if she had been already his wife.

For her nature was tender and honest and true—­and Lord Fordyce had touched the highest chord in it, the chord of her soul.

But, as she stood looking from the narrow, deep casement up at the evening sky, suddenly, with terrible vividness, there came back to her mental vision the chapel at Arranstoun upon her wedding night, with its gorgeous splendors and the candles and the lilies and their strong scent, and it was as if she could feel Michael’s kiss when the old clergyman’s words were done.