“Excuse me, Miss Conyers, but the tide is creeping in, and, if left there, it will get wet; and even you, if you remain here much longer, may be cut off from return, for you must be aware that at high water this point of land is covered by the sea, with the exception of this rock which, for the time, becomes an island.” “Thank you, Mr. Rosenthal. I know that; but there is an hour of grace left. Pray, did you come here to remind me that twice a day Lond’s Rock becomes an isolated fastness?” said Miss Conyers, raising her large, brilliant, dark-gray orbs to his face. “No, Miss Conyers; it was for something more serious—more important—more imminent, indeed, than that,” said Justin, gravely, seating himself beside her. “It would be bad,” he continued, “if the rising tide, before you should become aware of it, should cover the point and cut you off from the land, and leave you alone upon this rock for twelve hours of darkness; but the evil would be temporary. You are brave enough to overlive it, and the night would end in morning, and your road lie open for your return. Britomarte! dear Britomarte!—there is an isolation more to be dreaded for you, because more fraught with fatal consequences, than that I have named could be!” said Justin, trying to regulate the deep emotions of that passion which was thrilling in every inflection of his earnest voice. “Oh! Britomarte——” “Hush! do hush, and go away!” she exclaimed, hastily interrupting him. “No, no—I must speak! I have been silent long enough! Dear Britomarte, you must hear me now! You cannot have mistaken the meaning of my devotion to you in all the months we have passed together here. You——” “Nor could you have failed to perceive that such devotion was very unacceptable to me! I thank you, of course. It was very complimentary to me, no doubt, and I—was very much honored, indeed. But, as I said before, it was unacceptable, and you must have perceived that it was so.” “Britomarte, I love you. Oh! that I could make you feel the real meaning of the phrase when uttered by truthful lips. All of life, or death—all of heaven or hell—seem to hang upon the words, I love you! Britomarte, from the first moment that I saw you, something in your face powerfully attracted me. It was not your beauty, dearest, though you are beautiful; it was something deeper than that. It was the soul looking from the face! I love you with my whole heart and soul, once and forever! And if it were possible that I should lose you, Britomarte, I should never love again! And now, lady, I have unveiled my heart before you. I love you as men loved in those old heroic days when for woman’s smile solemn vows were made and deadly perils braved. Now tell me, dearest, dearest—what I can do to deserve——” His voice faltered for a single instant, and she took swift advantage of the pause to answer hastily, and even harshly: