In the little scene which I have depicted--the two lovers walking to and fro within sight of the house--sometimes under the green trees, it is true, but more often upon the soft turf before the terrace--Richard Newark, sitting whistling on the guard-stone--the sky putting on its evening raiment, and the purple draperies of the sun's couch being shaken down over the west, one thing was particularly worth remark; namely, the marvellous patience of the boy. He, so light, so volatile, so full of wild activity, sat quietly there the whole time. It is difficult to explain it, and I can but say, in explanation, that he did it without thought, in all simplicity. The mind might not be very bright or clear; it might be slightly warped from the right direction; but the heart went as straight as an arrow. He felt that Emmeline would like to be alone with Smeaton, and he with her; and, loving them both right well, by an impulse--by an instinct with which thought had nothing to do--he not only left them by themselves, but watched that they were not interrupted, and with love like that of a faithful dog, he watched patiently. At length, however, Richard Newark rose, and, with a quick step, joined the two lovers. He had seen some one coming round the other angle of the house; and he said, with a laugh-- "There is old Mrs. Culpepper upon the prowl again, Emmy. Take care, pretty bird, take care. That cat's steps are very stealthy." Emmeline, brighter, but as simple as himself, replied, "I do not fear her, Dick--I do not fear anything now." Oh, what a world of revelation was in that little word, _now!_ It spoke of feelings totally changed--of hope and trust and confidence sprung up--of the absorption, as it were, of her very being into the being of another--of the vast assurance with which woman's heart reposes upon love. Richard Newark did not remark it; but Smeaton felt it, and was very happy; for it told him how completely she was his own. They continued their walk, and caught a glimpse of the old woman's figure moving quietly along at some little distance; but they heeded it not, and continued talking in a lighter strain, and of more indifferent things, but, with the spirit that was in their hearts, giving life and energy to their thoughts and words, and breathing tones which each understood as meaning more than the words expressed. There was no weariness for them. The sun sank gradually through the sky, touched the edge of the horizon, dropped below it, disappeared. Purple, and gold, and grey, had each their moment in the western sky, then gave place, and darkness followed. The stars shone out, bright and clear above, not large, but very lustrous; and then the moon began to throw her light upward from the east, preparing to sweep the diamond dust of heaven away from her path on high.