They were sitting side by side in the stern-sheets of the boat, and the sun was just dipping all red-hot into the ocean. Under the lee of the cliff there were cool shadows; before them was a path of glory that led to a golden gate. The air was very sweet, and for those two all the world was lovely; there was no sorrow on the earth, there were no storms upon the sea. Eva took off her hat, and let the sweet breeze play upon her brow. Then she leaned over the side, and, dipping her hand into the cool water, watched the little track it made. “Eva.” “Yes, Ernest.” “Do you know I am going away?” The hand was withdrawn with a start. “Going away! when?” “The day after to-morrow; to Guernsey first, then to France.” “And when are you coming back again?” “I think that depends upon you, Eva.” The hand went back into the water. They were a mile or more from the shore now. Ernest manipulated the sail and tiller so as to sail slowly parallel with the coast-line. Then he spoke again. “Eva.” No answer. “Eva, for God’s sake look at me!” There was something in his voice that forced her to obey. She took her hand out of the water and turned her eyes on to his face. It was pale, and the lips were quivering. “I love you,” he said, in a low, choked voice. She grew angry. “Why did you bring me here? I will go home. This is nonsense; you are nothing but a boy!” There are moments in life when the human face is capable of conveying a more intense and vivid impression than any words, when it seems to speak to the very soul in a language of its own. And so it was with Ernest now: he made no answer to her reproaches, but, if that were possible, his features grew paler yet, and his eyes, shining like stars, fixed themselves upon her, and drew her to him. And what they said she and he knew alone, nor could any words convey it, for the tongue in which they talked is not spoken in this world. A moment still she wavered, fighting against the sweet mastery of his will with all her woman’s strength, and then—O Heaven! it was done, and his arms were round about her, her head upon his breast, and her voice was lost in sobs and broken words of love. O, radiant-winged hour of more than mortal joy; the hearts which you have touched will know when their time comes that they have not beat quite in vain! [Illustration: “O, radiant-winged hour!”] And so they sat, those two, quite silent, for there seemed to be no need for speech; words could not convey half they had to say, and, indeed, to tell the honest truth, their lips were, for the most part, otherwise employed. Meanwhile the sun went down, and the sweet moon arose over the quiet sea, and turned their little ship to silver. Eva gently disengaged herself from his arms, and half-rose to look at it; she had never thought it half so beautiful before. Ernest looked at it too. It is a way that lovers have. “Do you know the lines?” he said; “I think I can say them: