She was still living in the past, and took small heed of the present. She thought Colonel Carlyle was still fond of Felise, and that his little kindnesses and attention to her were offered to her for her father's sake. She felt grateful to him, but that was all. She was not pleased when he came, nor sorry when he went. So, when the long, cold days of winter wore away and nature began to smile with the coming of a genial spring, and Colonel Carlyle could restrain his impatient ardor no longer, his proposal of marriage, worded with all the passion of a younger lover, came upon her with the suddenness of a thunderbolt from a clear sky. "Surely, Mr. Carlyle, I have misunderstood your meaning," she said, looking up at him when he ceased to speak, with terror and fright in her large eyes. "You asked me to--to----" "To _marry_ me," said the colonel. "You have not misunderstood me, Bonnibel. I love you, my darling, as passionately as any young man could do. I ask you to give yourself to me for my cherished wife. It would be the sole aim of my life to make you happy. Will you be my wife, little darling?" "Why, you--you are engaged to Miss Herbert," said Bonnibel, in surprise and reproach. "I beg your pardon, my dear. I am not. I admire and esteem Miss Herbert very much, but I have never addressed a word of love to her. It is _you_ whom I love--_you_ whom I wish to make my wife," exclaimed the ardent colonel. "I certainly understood that you would marry Felise," answered Bonnibel, gravely. "It was a very serious error on your part, my dear little girl, for I have been trying all the winter to make you see that I loved no one but _you_." "I never dreamed of such a thing," exclaimed the girl, in a tone of genuine distress. "Then you are the only one who did not suspect it," said he, in a mortified tone. "The fact was very patent to all others." Bonnibel looked down at the shimmering opal on her finger, and a blush of shame rose over her delicate features. She thought to herself, impulsively: "This is dreadful for me--a wedded wife--to sit here and listen to such words without the power of protesting against them." "Perhaps you think I am too old for you, my angel," said the colonel, breaking the silence; "but my heart and my feelings are much younger than my years. I could not have loved you more ardently thirty years ago. But if age is a fault in your eyes, my darling, I will atone for it by every indulgence on earth, and by a deathless devotion." "Oh, pray, do not say another word, Colonel Carlyle. It can never be, sir. I can never be your wife!" exclaimed the girl, in deep agitation. "But why not, my dearest girl?" "I do not love you, sir," said the girl, cresting her graceful head half-haughtily upon her slender throat.