“You have been very faithful, John,” she murmured to the fern and moss; “I suppose I must reward you.”

“That will not do for me,” I said; “I will not have reluctant liking, nor assent for pity’s sake; which only means endurance.  I must have all love, or none, I must have your heart of hearts; even as you have mine, Lorna.”

While I spoke, she glanced up shyly through her fluttering lashes, to prolong my doubt one moment, for her own delicious pride.  Then she opened wide upon me all the glorious depth and softness of her loving eyes, and flung both arms around my neck, and answered with her heart on mine,—­

“Darling, you have won it all.  I shall never be my own again.  I am yours, my own one, for ever and for ever.”

I am sure I know not what I did, or what I said thereafter, being overcome with transport by her words and at her gaze.  Only one thing I remember, when she raised her bright lips to me, like a child, for me to kiss, such a smile of sweet temptation met me through her flowing hair, that I almost forgot my manners, giving her no time to breathe.

“That will do,” said Lorna gently, but violently blushing; “for the present that will do, John.  And now remember one thing, dear.  All the kindness is to be on my side; and you are to be very distant, as behoves to a young maiden; except when I invite you.  But you may kiss my hand, John; oh, yes, you may kiss my hand, you know.  Ah to be sure!  I had forgotten; how very stupid of me!”

For by this time I had taken one sweet hand and gazed on it, with the pride of all the world to think that such a lovely thing was mine; and then I slipped my little ring upon the wedding finger; and this time Lorna kept it, and looked with fondness on its beauty, and clung to me with a flood of tears.

“Every time you cry,” said I, drawing her closer to me “I shall consider it an invitation not to be too distant.  There now, none shall make you weep.  Darling, you shall sigh no more, but live in peace and happiness, with me to guard and cherish you:  and who shall dare to vex you?” But she drew a long sad sigh, and looked at the ground with the great tears rolling, and pressed one hand upon the trouble of her pure young breast.

“It can never, never be,” she murmured to herself alone:  “Who am I, to dream of it?  Something in my heart tells me it can be so never, never.”

CHAPTER XXXIV

TWO NEGATIVES MAKE AN AFFIRMATIVE

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There was, however, no possibility of depressing me at such a time.  To be loved by Lorna, the sweet, the pure, the playful one, the fairest creature on God’s earth and the most enchanting, the lady of high birth and mind; that I, a mere clumsy, blundering yeoman, without wit, or wealth, or lineage, should have won that loving heart to be my own for ever, was a thought no fears could lessen, and no chance could steal from me.