Holy to them grew the stillness: the ripple suffused in golden moonlight: the dark edges of the leaves against superlative brightness. Not a chirp was heard, nor anything save the cool and endless carol of the happy waters, whose voices are the spirits of silence. Nature seemed consenting that their hands should be joined, their eyes intermingling. And when Evan, with a lover’s craving, wished her lips to say what her eyes said so well, Rose drew his fingers up, and, with an arch smile and a blush, kissed them. The simple act set his heart thumping, and from the look of love, she saw an expression of pain pass through him. Her fealty—her guileless, fearless truth—which the kissing of his hand brought vividly before him, conjured its contrast as well in this that was hidden from her, or but half suspected. Did she know—know and love him still? He thought it might be: but that fell dead on her asking: “Shall I speak to Mama to-night?” A load of lead crushed him. “Rose!” he said; but could get no farther. Innocently, or with well-masked design, Rose branched off into little sweet words about his bruised shoulder, touching it softly, as if she knew the virtue that was in her touch, and accusing her selfish self as she caressed it: “Dearest Evan! you must have been sure I thought no one like you. Why did you not tell me before? I can hardly believe it now! Do you know,” she hurried on, “they think me cold and heartless,—am I? I must be, to have made you run such risk; but yet I’m sure I could not have survived you.” Dropping her voice, Rose quoted Ruth. As Evan listened, the words were like food from heaven poured into his spirit. “To-morrow,” he kept saying to himself, “to-morrow I will tell her all. Let her think well of me a few short hours.” But the passing minutes locked them closer; each had a new link—in a word, or a speechless breath, or a touch: and to break the marriage of their eyes there must be infinite baseness on one side, or on the other disloyalty to love. The moon was a silver ball, high up through the aspen-leaves. Evan kissed the hand of Rose, and led her back to the house. He had appeased his conscience by restraining his wild desire to kiss her lips. In the hall they parted. Rose whispered, “Till death!” giving him her hands. CHAPTER XXIV. THE COUNTESS MAKES HERSELF FELT