When she did fall asleep, she dreamed of her hero as she always had done every night since she had been beneath that roof, and, strange to say, she dreamed that Mr. Moore had kissed her--a thing he had not ventured to do, in reality--and the girl was quite sorry to awaken at last and find that the bliss of the kiss she had felt upon her lips was only the vagary of an idle dream, and the impulsive child wished that the sweet dream had been a reality. CHAPTER XXVI. LOVE. “From whence does he come, and whither he goes, There is not a mortal in all the world knows. He comes in a smile, and goes in a kiss, He dies in the birth of a maiden’s bliss; He wakes in a tear, he lives in a sigh, He lingers in hope, refusing to die. But whence he does come, and whither he goes, There is not a mortal in all the world knows.” Her wedding day! That was the first thought that entered Jess’ mind, as she opened her eyes the next morning, and with a bound she was out of her couch to see from the window what fate portended in the way of a cloudy or a sunshiny day for her. It was as yet too early to determine that, for the first gray streak of dawn had not appeared in the eastern sky, and the early mornings were always misty, and every branch and shrub and blade of grass was burdened by great drops of dew. “I am sure the sun is going to shine,” she ruminated, “and that will mean: ‘Happy is the bride the sun shines on,’ as the old saying goes.” Jess made all possible haste with her toilet, and hurried down as fast as she could to the grounds; but, early as she was, Mr. Moore was there before her. He greeted her in the same grave, dignified manner habitual to him, it never occurring to him to offer her the slightest caress, even though she was his promised bride; and before the sun reached the zenith she was to be his wife. He smiled a little as she came fluttering down the garden path, and at the eager face she raised to his in greeting. “How early you are,” she cried, putting out her little hand to him. “I did not think you would be out for hours and hours yet, and here you are before me, and it is not yet five o’clock; you are out of your nest earlier than the early birds are.” He did not think it necessary to tell her that he had not been in his nest all the long night through, but had spent the long hours between dusk, that deepened into midnight and then stretched away into early morn, in pacing up and down under the sycamore trees, looking the future in the face, and bidding farewell to the dearest hopes of his life. Jess knew so little of the habits of lovers that his lack of eagerness or affection in greeting her passed unnoticed. He took out his watch and glanced at it. “There is a long walk before us, and I think we had better start at once,” he said, abruptly; “we can return in at least a couple of hours, and during that time we shall not be missed.