So he retained her fingers, the knitting being stopped. But emotion Came all over her more and yet more from his hand, from her heart, and Most from the sweet idea and image her brain was renewing. So he retained her hand, and, his tears down-dropping on it, Trembling a long time, kissed it at last. And she ended. And as she ended, uprose he: saying, What have I heard? Oh, What have I done, that such words should be said to me? Oh, I see it, See the great key-stone coming down from the heaven of heavens; And he fell at her feet, and buried his face in her apron. But as under the moon and stars they went to the cottage, Elspie sighed and said, Be patient, dear Mr. Philip, Do not do anything hasty. It is all so soon, so sudden. Do not say anything yet to any one. Elspie, he answered, Does not my friend go on Friday? I then shall see nothing of you. Do not I go myself on Monday? But oh, he said, Elspie! Do as I bid you, my child: do not go on calling me Mr.; Might I not just as well be calling you Miss Elspie? Call me, this heavenly night for once, for the first time, Philip. Philip, she said, and laughed, and said she could not say it; Philip, she said; he turned, and kissed the sweet lips as they said it. But on the morrow Elspie kept out of the way of Philip: And at the evening seat, when he took her hand by the alders, Drew it back, saying, almost peevishly, No, Mr. Philip, I was quite right, last night; it is too soon, too sudden. What I told you before was foolish perhaps, was hasty. When I think it over, I am shocked and terrified at it. Not that at all I unsay it; that is, I know I said it, And when I said it, felt it. But oh, we must wait, Mr. Philip! We mustn’t pull ourselves at the great key-stone of the centre: Some one else up above must hold it, fit it, and fix it; If we try ourselves, we shall only damage the archway, Damage all our own work that we wrought, our painful upbuilding. When, you remember, you took my hand last evening, talking, I was all over a tremble: and as you pressed the fingers After, and afterwards kissed them, I could not speak. And then, too, As we went home, you kissed me for saying your name. It was dreadful. I have been kissed before, she added, blushing slightly, I have been kissed more than once by Donald my cousin, and others; It is the way of the lads, and I make up my mind not to mind it; But, Mr. Philip, last night, and from you, it was different, quite, Sir. When I think of all that, I am shocked and terrified at it. Yes, it is dreadful to me. She paused, but quickly continued, Smiling almost fiercely, continued, looking upward. You are too strong, you see, Mr. Philip! just like the sea there, Which _will_ come, through the straits and all between the mountains