Blushing through the wet of weeping, and the gloom of pondering, yet she would not hide her eyes, but folded me, and dwelled on me.

“I cannot believe,” in the pride of my joy, I whispered into one little ear, “that you could ever so love me, beauty, as to give up the world for me.”

“Would you give up your farm for me, John?” cried Lorna, leaping back and looking, with her wondrous power of light at me; “would you give up your mother, your sisters, your home, and all that you have in the world and every hope of your life, John?”

“Of course I would.  Without two thoughts.  You know it; you know it, Lorna.”

“It is true that I do,” she answered in a tone of deepest sadness; “and it is this power of your love which has made me love you so.  No good can come of it, no good.  God’s face is set against selfishness.”

As she spoke in that low tone I gazed at the clear lines of her face (where every curve was perfect) not with love and wonder only, but with a strange new sense of awe.

“Darling,” I said, “come nearer to me.  Give me surety against that.  For God’s sake never frighten me with the thought that He would part us.”

“Does it then so frighten you?” she whispered, coming close to me; “I know it, dear; I have known it long; but it never frightens me.  It makes me sad, and very lonely, till I can remember.”

“’Till you can remember what?” I asked, with a long, deep shudder; for we are so superstitious.

“Until I do remember, love, that you will soon come back to me, and be my own for ever.  This is what I always think of, this is what I hope for.”

Although her eyes were so glorious, and beaming with eternity, this distant sort of beatitude was not much to my liking.  I wanted to have my love on earth; and my dear wife in my own home; and children in good time, if God should please to send us any.  And then I would be to them, exactly what my father was to me.  And beside all this, I doubted much about being fit for heaven; where no ploughs are, and no cattle, unless sacrificed bulls went thither.

Therefore I said, “Now kiss me, Lorna; and don’t talk any nonsense.”  And the darling came and did it; being kindly obedient, as the other world often makes us.

“You sweet love,” I said at this, being slave to her soft obedience; “do you suppose I should be content to leave you until Elysium?”

“How on earth can I tell, dear John, what you will be content with?”

“You, and only you,” said I; “the whole of it lies in a syllable.  Now you know my entire want; and want must be my comfort.”

“But surely if I have money, sir, and birth, and rank, and all sorts of grandeur, you would never dare to think of me.”

She drew herself up with an air of pride, as she gravely pronounced these words, and gave me a scornful glance, or tried; and turned away as if to enter some grand coach or palace; while I was so amazed and grieved in my raw simplicity especially after the way in which she had first received my news, so loving and warm-hearted, that I never said a word, but stared and thought, “How does she mean it?”