"Yet she has English blood as well as I," he thought. "Why, the very name on the old bells of the church there, records the memory of an ancestress of hers! We cannot be so far apart." Looking at her standing there, he rehearsed to himself all that he meant to say, oh, a great many things both true and eloquent, but at that moment every word forsook him. Yet this was probably the best opportunity he would have of telling her what was burning in his heart: telling her how she had beguiled him at first by her quick understanding and her frolicsome wit, because all that sort of thing was so new to him. She had come like a mountain spring to a thirsty man. He had been groping for inspiration and for help: now he seemed to find them all in her. She was so much more than charming, though it was her charm that first impressed him; so much more than pretty, though her face attracted him at first; so much more than magnetic, though she drew him to her at their first meeting with bonds as delicate as they were strong. These were tangible, vital, legitimate qualities--but were they all? Could lips part so, could eyes shine so, could voice tremble so, if there were not something underneath; a good heart, fidelity, warmth of nature? "For the first time," he thought, "I long to be worthy of a woman. But I would not tell her how I love her at this moment, unless I felt I need not be wholly unequal to her demands. I have never desired anything strongly enough to struggle for it, up to now; but she has set my springs in motion, and I can work for her until I die!" All this he thought, but never a word he said. Then the church clock struck and the clashing bells began. They shook the air, the earth, the ancient stones, the very nests upon the trees, and sent the rooks flying black as ink against the yellow buttercups in the meadow. "We must go, in a few minutes," said Robinette. "Oh, will you pull me some of those white roses up there?" Lavendar swung himself up and drawing down a bunch he pulled off two white buds. "Will you take them?" he asked, holding them out to her. Then suddenly he said, very low and very humbly, "Oh, take me too; take me, Robinette, though no man was ever so unworthy!" Robinette laid the roses on the wall beside her. "For my part," she said, turning to Lavendar with a little laugh that was half a sob; "for my part, I like giving better than taking!" She put both her hands in his and looked into his face. "Here is my life," she said simply. "I want to belong to you, to help you, to live by your side." "I oughtn't to take you at your word," he said, his voice choked with emotion. "You are far too good for me!" "Hush," Robinetta answered, putting a finger on his lip; "it isn't a question of how great you are or how wonderful: it's a question of what we can be to each other. I'd rather have you than the Duke of Wellington or Marcus Aurelius, and I believe you wouldn't change me for Helen of Troy!"