Taking up the ring, he held it for a moment, as if examining the gold. Ellen rose and went outside. The interview was becoming a very conscious one. He caught her up near the cascade, took her right hand in his, and slipped the ring upon her third finger. "How many times has it been off?" he asked. "Never until to-day." "Well, there it is again, Ellen. Cherish it still. I hope--that ere long----" He did not finish, but she understood quite well what he meant. Their eyes met, and each read the impassioned love seated within the other; strangely pure withal, and idealistic as ever poet dreamed of. He strained the hand in his. "Forgive my petulance, my darling." Excepting the one sweet word and the lingering pressure of the hand; excepting that the variegated rose was transferred from his possession to hers, the interview had been wholly wanting in the fond signs and tokens that are commonly supposed to attend the intercourse of lovers. Captain Bohun had hitherto abstained from using them, and perhaps Heaven alone knew what the self-denial cost him. In his unusually refined nature he may have deemed that they would be unjustifiable, until he could speak out openly and say, Will you be my wife? "What is your book, Ellen?" he asked, as she returned to take it up from the table. "Longfellow." "Longfellow! Shall I read some of it to you? can you remain out?" "I can do so until one o'clock; luncheon-time." They sat down, and he began "The Courtship of Miles Standish." The blue sky shone down upon them through the flickering leaves, the cascade trickled, the bees hummed in the warm air, the white butterflies sported with the buds and flowers: and Ellen Adair, her hands clasping that treasure they held, the rose, her eyes falling on it to hide their happiness, listened in wrapt attention, for the voice was sweeter to her than any out of heaven. The words of another poet most surely were applicable to this period of the existence of Captain Bohun and Ellen Adair. One of them at least would acknowledge it amidst the bitterness of afterlife. "Love took up the glass of Time, and turned it in his glowing hands; Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands." It could not last--speaking now only of the hour. One o'clock came all too soon; when he had seemingly read about ten minutes; and Miles Standish had to be left in the most unsatisfactory condition. Ellen rose: she must hasten in. "It is a pity to break off here," said Arthur. "Shall I come and finish it this afternoon?" Ellen shook her head. In the afternoon she would have to drive out with Mrs. Cumberland. Captain Bohun went home through the green lanes, and soon found himself amidst those other flowers--Mr. North's. That gentleman came forth from his room to meet him, apparently in some tribulation, a letter in hand.