“Of course I want to see you, Bertha,” he said quickly, seeming to take his courage in both hands; “I want to see you always.” “Well,” she said, with a charming smile, “I sometimes take a walk after dinner to the gate and observe the shadows of night.” “By Jove, I wish I’d known that before.” “Foolish creature!” said Bertha to herself with amusement, “he doesn’t gather that this is the first night upon which I shall have done anything of the kind.” Chapter II With swinging step Bertha returned to the house, and like a swarm of birds a hundred amorets flew about her head; Cupid leapt from tree to tree and shot his arrows into her willing heart; her imagination clothed the naked branches with tender green, and in her happiness the gray sky turned to azure.... It was the first time that Edward Craddock had shown his love in a manner which was unmistakable; if before, much had suggested that he was not indifferent, nothing had been absolutely convincing, and the doubt had caused her every imaginable woe. As for her, she made no effort to conceal it from herself; she was not ashamed, she loved him passionately, she worshipped the ground he trod on; she confessed boldly that he of all men was the one to make her happy; her life she would give into his strong and manly hands. She had made up her mind firmly that Craddock should lead her to the altar. Times without number already had she fancied herself resting in his arms--in his strong arms--the very thought of which was a protection against all the ills of the world. Oh yes, she wanted him to take her in his arms and kiss her; in imagination she felt his lips upon hers, and the warmth of his breath made her faint with the anguish of love. She asked herself how she could wait till the evening; how on earth was she to endure the slow passing of the hours? And she must sit opposite her aunt and pretend to read, or talk on this subject and on that. It was insufferable. Then, inconsequently, she asked herself if Edward knew that she loved him; he could not dream how intense was her desire. “I’m sorry I’m late for tea,” she said, on entering the drawing-room. “My dear,” said Miss Ley, “the buttered toast is probably horrid, but I don’t see why you should not eat cake.” “I don’t want anything to eat,” cried Bertha, flinging herself on a chair. “But you’re dying with thirst,” added Miss Ley, looking at her niece with sharp eyes. “Wouldn’t you like your tea out of a breakfast cup?” Miss Ley had come to the conclusion that the restlessness and the long absence could only be due to some masculine cause. Mentally she shrugged her shoulders, hardly wondering who the creature was. “Of course,” she thought, “it’s certain to be some one quite ineligible. I hope they won’t have a long engagement.”