On either bank, the blades of grass, making their last autumn growth, pricked their spears and crisped their tuftings with the pearly purity.  The tenderness of their green appeared under the glaucous mantle; while that grey suffusion, which is the blush of green life, spread its damask chastity.  Even then my soul was lifted, worried though my mind was:  who can see such large kind doings, and not be ashamed of human grief?

Not only unashamed of grief, but much abashed with joy, was I, when I saw my Lorna coming, purer than the morning dew, than the sun more bright and clear.  That which made me love her so, that which lifted my heart to her, as the Spring wind lifts the clouds, was the gayness of her nature, and its inborn playfulness.  And yet all this with maiden shame, a conscious dream of things unknown, and a sense of fate about them.

Down the valley still she came, not witting that I looked at her, having ceased (through my own misprison) to expect me yet awhile; or at least she told herself so.  In the joy of awakened life and brightness of the morning, she had cast all care away, and seemed to float upon the sunrise, like a buoyant silver wave.  Suddenly at sight of me, for I leaped forth at once, in fear of seeming to watch her unawares, the bloom upon her cheeks was deepened, and the radiance of her eyes; and she came to meet me gladly.

“At last then, you are come, John.  I thought you had forgotten me.  I could not make you understand—­they have kept me prisoner every evening:  but come into my house; you are in danger here.”

[Illustration:  283.jpg At last then, you are come John]

Meanwhile I could not answer, being overcome with joy, but followed to her little grotto, where I had been twice before.  I knew that the crowning moment of my life was coming—­that Lorna would own her love for me.

She made for awhile as if she dreamed not of the meaning of my gaze, but tried to speak of other things, faltering now and then, and mantling with a richer damask below her long eyelashes.

“This is not what I came to know,” I whispered very softly, “you know what I am come to ask.”

“If you are come on purpose to ask anything, why do you delay so?” She turned away very bravely, but I saw that her lips were trembling.

“I delay so long, because I fear; because my whole life hangs in balance on a single word; because what I have near me now may never more be near me after, though more than all the world, or than a thousand worlds, to me.”  As I spoke these words of passion in a low soft voice, Lorna trembled more and more; but she made no answer, neither yet looked up at me.

“I have loved you long and long,” I pursued, being reckless now, “when you were a little child, as a boy I worshipped you:  then when I saw you a comely girl, as a stripling I adored you:  now that you are a full-grown maiden all the rest I do, and more—­I love you more than tongue can tell, or heart can hold in silence.  I have waited long and long; and though I am so far below you I can wait no longer; but must have my answer.”