"Darling?" she exclaims softly. "There is something I want to say to you, and I don't quite know how to say it; however, I must try. I have been thinking so much lately whether you are not making a great mistake--whether I have any right to let you risk your future, whether it would not have been much better for you had we never met. Wait-- don't interrupt--let me say all, it's difficult enough, Heaven knows. Why should you imperil your interests and perhaps be for ever separated from others you love--and all for me? Why should I bring sorrow upon you? Roland, darling, think well of what I say. Remember it is not too late now. The day may come when you will look back upon this sweet-- this beautiful time"--a quiver in her voice--"with nothing but bitterness. What then?" Has her love for him at its climax given her a sudden and magical insight into the future? Is the time coming when he will remember her prophetic words--but their fulfilment, it may be, in a different sense to that in which they are uttered? "What then?" is the vehement reply. "Only this, that--that"--(the strong, cool-headed man finds himself helplessly stuttering)--"that this understanding of ours--delicious as it is to have it all to ourselves-- must become public property to-morrow. You must never be in a position to say such things to me again." "Oh, my darling! I am only thinking of you and your happiness." Then, with a warm rush of feeling: "Can such a day as this ever come again in a lifetime? It is very foolish of me, but I have a presentiment that there is trouble before us, and that even now it would be better for you had we never met. I want you to do nothing in a hurry. Better to wait--to go on as we are--than to risk your prospects for me." He finds no great difficulty in reassuring her as they sit there in their golden lotus-dream, with all the glories of earth and air spreading around them. The busy world lies far beneath; here, silence and the evensong of birds, and the flood of dazzling sheen on the purple sea, as the sun dips down nearer and nearer to his liquid bed. Just then, in silvery chimes, distant yet clear, the bells of Wandsborough steeple ring out the Angelus. Then they descend the heather-clad slope, and make their way through the dewy, silent fields. And now a great orb of fire touches the farther edge of the glowing sea, tingeing it blood-red, and the horizon is all aflame. A passing gleam, as a ray from an enchanted world, strikes broadly over hill and lea, then fades, leaving the earth in shadow, and the fragrant breaths of gathering night fall thickly around. There is a scent as of crushed roses in the air, and the grass is already wet with dew. The distant bark of a sheep-dog from an upland farm, the lowing of kine wending their way to the milking yard, the whistle of the reapers leaving their labour--only these sounds breaking musically now and again upon this stillness of rural peace.