“Oh, love! love! love! How sweet you are! When I return, then you will be my wife. Let me speak to your father and mother to-night. Why should we wait?” “Leonard, I have promised my father and mother that I will not engage myself to any one, until the war is over.” “But that was before this happy hour. Such a promise cannot now stand, darling.” “It cannot be broken. How could you ever trust me if I was false to the dear father and mother who love me so much?” “But we are engaged, Sappha. No mere ceremony of asking consent can ever make us more truly one.” “Then, my love, be content with that knowledge.” “The war may last a lifetime.” “It may be over in a year--or less.” The love-light in her eyes, her tremulous smiles, her penetrative loveliness, her confident heart’s still fervour, filled him with an inward gladness that was unspeakable. His eyes dilated with rapture; he felt as if he was walking on air, and breathing some diviner atmosphere. The joy of love had gone to his head like wine. In a little while Mrs. Bloommaert came into the room, and though she was sleepy and distrait, she could not but notice the couple who stood up hand-in-hand to meet her. Sappha was eighteen years old, but her radiant face looked almost childlike in its innocent joyousness; and Leonard at her side was the incarnation of young manhood; endowed with strength and grace and beauty, and crowned with the glory of fortunate love. Leonard wished her to understand, but she smiled away all explanations, and pretended a little worry over her long sleep, and the late hour; and there was nothing left for Leonard but to say “Good-night.” They both went to the door with him, and when he was out of sight, the door was shut and the mother said, “I must have been asleep! Your father will be here soon, Sappha. You had better go to bed. I suppose Leonard is going with the men he raised.” “Yes, he is going.” “He ought to be glad to go. It is good for a young man to have some experiences. Well, dear one, the day is over; and you must be tired.” Then Sappha perceived that her mother did not wish to know authentically, what she understood clearly enough; and a little saddened by this want of sympathy, she went quietly into solitude with her joy.