It was a strange speech, closing with a strangely abrupt question. It was characteristic of the speaker, who never in all his life probably had known for a moment what nervousness or embarrassment meant. Judging by his tone, the easy flow of the musical voice, the frank, open manner, one would have imagined that this meeting with a strange and beautiful girl was the most matter-of-fact affair. "Are you satisfied?" he repeated, as Stella remained silent, trying to fight against the charm of his simple and direct manner. "If not, perhaps that will do it?" and taking the whip, a strong hunter's crop, in both his white hands, he broke it in two as easily as if it were a reed, and flung it over his shoulder. Stella flushed, but she laughed, and her dark eyes beamed down upon him with serious archness. "Does not that look as if you were afraid you should not keep your promise?" He smiled up at her. "It does," he said--"you are right; I may have been tempted beyond my strength. He is a bad-tempered beast, and I am another. Why do you laugh----?" He broke off, his voice changing as subtly as some musical instrument. Stella hesitated a moment. "I beg you will tell me--I shall not be offended." She laughed, and clung with one hand to the lilac, looking down on him. "I was thinking how fortunate it was that he could not whip you. It is not fair, as you are both so bad-tempered, that one only should get punished." He did not laugh, as another man would have done; but there came into the dark eyes a flash of surprised amusement, such as might have shone in those of the giant Gulliver when some Liliputian struck him with a pin-sized stick; and his lips parted with a smile. "It was a natural reflection," he said, after a pause. "Will you let me help you down?" Stella shook her head. Somehow she felt safe up there above him, where but the dark eyes could reach her. "Thank you, no; I am gathering some lilac. Do not trouble." And she turned slightly from him, and stretched up her hand for a branch above her head. The next moment he sprang up the bank lightly, and stood beside her. "Permit me," he said. And with one sweep he drew the fragrant branch within her reach. "And now will you come down?" he asked, as if she were some willful child. Stella smiled, and he held out his hand. She put hers into it, and his fingers closed over it with a grasp firm as steel, but as smooth as a woman's. As the warm fingers closed over hers, which were cold with her long grasp of the branch above her head, a thrill ran through her and caused her to shudder slightly. "You are cold," he said, instantly. "The Spring evenings are treacherous. Have you far to go?" "I am not cold, thanks," she said, with quick alarm, for there was a look in his eyes and a movement of his hand which seemed to give warning that he was about to take his coat off. "I am not at all cold!"