“Indeed, sir!” cried Norine, with her expressive eyebrows raised as high as possible. “How did you become aware of any change in my opinion?” “I do not know how I did,” said Clinton thoughtfully; “but I am fully aware of it.” “Well,” said Norine, with a rosy flush on her downcast face, “does the change gratify you any?” She tried to look at him and meet the answering look in his eyes, but she could not. She could only bend her head very low over her work, and flutter and blush and pant a little, telling the story of her opinion, to those watchful eyes of his, as plainly, yet as unconsciously, as possible; and when he rose from his lounging position at her feet there was a satisfied look on his face that plainly said the world was his. It was on the next day after this that they started for the dismantled cabin in the woods. They sauntered slowly along the forest path; sometimes side by side, oftener, as the path was narrow, with Norine in front leading the way. Clinton was very grave and preoccupied--thinking over his narrow escape, Norine thought; and not wishing to disturb him, she too walked on in silence. They had been silent for so long that she, somewhat in advance, and overcome by the dreamy languor of the summer afternoon, had almost forgotten his presence. While passing through a little open glade she had plucked a handful of great yellow-hearted daisies, and now she was plucking the white petals from them, one by one, murmuring as she did so: “Loves me, loves me not; loves me, loves me not.” But the perverse flowers would never come right, and she cast them from her petulantly, and turned to look for her companion. He was just seating himself on a fallen log, and she turned slowly back and joined him. “Norine,” he said thoughtfully, “do you remember what you said when I spoke of my desolate condition that day?” “That you would make friends?” answered Norine--“yes.” “There are closer ties than those of friendship, Norine; and I am very lonely.” There was no answer. Norine sat silently apprehensive. “There are dearer ties than those of friendship, Norine,” he repeated, “and I am going to form them, Norine. I am going to get married.” Norine was mute. She felt something cold clutch at her heart, and for a moment she was numb with anguish. She knew now that she loved him--loved him with the first and purest love of her life. Why did he tell her this? She knew that her cheek was bloodless, but she would have rather died than have let him see it. So she started along the path, making him a little gesture to follow. She walked faster than she knew, for her trembling limbs tried to keep pace with her thoughts. She loved him. She knew now that he was the one lover of her life. To lose him now was to lose all the brightness of her future. Yet the daisies had been right. She had only found him to lose him again. Ah, why had they ever met?