but those Valentine lines I dismissed as an utterly inadequate expression of my sentiments And, after all, it was love's labour lost, for, when she drew near me I could only grasp her hand and gaze upon her face till she would not meet my eye, but hung down her head and fetched her breath as if she'd been running, though I vow she must have crawled to the place. And when speech came to me all I could find to say at first was that it had been a grand day but was cooler now; and then a clucking grouse whizzed past not a stone throw from us, swift and strong on wing, and chuntering its weird "Go back, go back," almost as plain as a man can speak. We started away from each other as if we'd been our first parents in Eden caught talking to the serpent, for, indeed, there's no gainsaying our nerves were all a-quiver that night. Miriam, being a woman, was the first to recover her self-possession. "Where's Ruth?" she asked. "I thought you'd bring your sister. I shouldn't have come, but for that--at least, well, perhaps not." "Come, that's better," I said. "You'll see Ruth fast enough. She's just dying to see you." Now that was pure invention. "Ah, why so?" And then I saw my opening. "Why! Because I've told her, Miriam, what an angel you are, and how lonesome, and how much in need of a sister's sympathy and help. And I've told her what I've come here this night to tell you--that I love you, I love you, I love you. Oh! Miriam, I'm not clever, and I cannot twist my tongue to smooth speeches, but I know this, that you are the sun of my heaven, the light and warmth of my life. I haven't lived till now. I've breathed, but I haven't lived, and now I cannot think of life without you, Miriam." Her bosom rose and fell tumultuous; she swayed as though a sudden weakness had filched her strength; and she looked at me ah! well, I have seen that look in one woman's eyes, and those were hers, and at that glance my heart leaped in my breast, and I had my arm about her waist and she was clasped to my breast, and I was raining kisses on her dark tresses, her cheeks, her quivering lips And it wasn't the russet moor by Burnplatts we stood on then, nor did the grey, Puritan sky of an English autumn arch above our heads, nor were those the notes of common moorland songsters that sang their evening hymn--we stood entwined on the plains of Paradise, and heaven's own light bathed us in its unspeakable effulgence, and heaven's choir luted ravishing music to our ears. 'Twas love, the first, pure, soul-revealing love of man and maid: the nectar one tastes but once, and tasting first knows life.