He took my arm. I yielded. We went down into the garden and paced its narrow gravel path without uttering a word. There came a slight shower; we stepped under the old poplar trees; they yielded more than sufficient shelter. The sun shone through the sparkling drops as they fell, and whilst the fresh rain came down, the birds overhead sang sweetly under the cover of young leafy boughs, as if their song could know no ending. Yes, sweet and near though I knew it to be, it sounded to me as coming from the depths of some dreamy forest far away. I do not think our garden had ever looked so fresh, so pleasant, or been so fragrant as when that shower ceased. The rain-clouds soft and grey, had melted into the vapoury blue of upper air; the warm sunshine tempered the coolness of the breeze, the green grass was white and heavy with the dew of night, and bright with the rain of the morning; the wet gravel sparkled, the dark trunks of the trees trickled slowly, the brown moss clung closer to the old sun- dial, the fresh earth smelt sweet, stock, mignionette, wall-flower, furze, and jessamine yielded their most fragrant odours. Rhododendrons beaten down by the last night's storm trailed on the earth their gorgeous masses, whilst sparkling fox-gloves, with a dew-drop to every flower, still rose straight and tall. We were again walking on. Cornelius suddenly stopped short, and for the first time spoke. "Daisy," he said, earnestly, "you are quite sure, are you not?" "Look at that flower," was my only reply. It was a crimson peony, heavy with rain. I bent it slightly; from the delicate petals, from the heart which seemed untouched by a breath, there poured forth a bright shower of liquid dew. "What about that flower, Daisy?" "It is a peony, Cornelius." "Let it." "Well, I don't think you can prevent it from being one. Peonies will be peonies." "Who wants to interfere with their rights? and what have peonies to do with our discourse, unless that you look very like one just now? Oh, Daisy! are you sure you like me well enough to marry me?" "Don't think, if ever I do such a thing, it shall be for liking, Cornelius." "What for, then?" "To prevent you from marrying any one else." He still looked uneasy, and yet he might have known that, though it is sometimes very hard to know where love is, it is always wonderfully easy to know where he is not. "What would you have?" I asked, a little impatiently. "Is it the love, honour, and obey that troubles you? Well, I have loved you all my life, or very nearly. I honour you more than living creature; as for obedience, I could obey you all the day long, Cornelius." "Do you mean to turn out a Griseldis?" he said, uneasily. "What put such ideas into your head?" "Remembrance of the time--" "I knew you would grow filial again," he interrupted, looking provoked, "instead of answering my question, which was--"