The moonlight falling on her beautiful face softened it into wondrous loveliness--it was pale, refined, with depths of passion in the dark eyes, and tender, tremulous smiles on the scarlet lips. She wore some material of white and gold. A thin scarf was thrown carelessly over her white shoulders. When the wind stirred it blew the scarf against her face. She might have been the very goddess of love, she looked so fair out in the starlight. If there had been one particle of love in Lord Arleigh's heart, that hour and scene must have called it into life. For a time they sat in perfect silence. Her head was thrown back against a pillar round which red roses clustered and clung, and the light of the stars fell full upon her face; the dark eyes were full of radiance. "How beautiful it is, Norman," she said, suddenly. "What music has ever equaled the whispers of the night-wind? It seems a sad pity after all that we are obliged to lead such conventional lives, and spend the greater part of them in warm, close rooms." "You have a great love for out-of-door freedom," he remarked, laughingly. "Yes, I love the fresh air. I think if any one asked me what I loved best on earth, I should say wind. I love it in all its moods--rough, caressing, tender, impetuous, calm, stormy. It is always beautiful. Listen to it now, just sighing in the branches of those tall trees. Could any music be sweeter or softer?" "No," he replied, and then added, "The time and the scene embolden me, Philippa; there is something that I wish to say to you--something that I long have wished to say. Will you hear it now?" A tremor like that of the leaves in the wind seemed to pass over her. There was a startled expression in the dark eyes, a quiver of the crimson lips. Was it coming at last--this for which she had longed all her life? She controlled all outward signs of emotion and turned to him quite calmly. "I am always ready to listen to you, Norman, and to hear what you have to say." "You see, Philippa, the starlight makes me bold. If we were in that brilliantly-lighted drawing-room of yours, I should probably hesitate long before speaking plainly, as I am going to do now." He saw her clasp her hands tightly, but he had no key to what was passing in her mind. He drew nearer to her. "You know, Philippa," he began, "that I have always been fond of you. I have always taken the same interest in you that I should have taken in a dearly-beloved sister of my own, if Heaven had given me one." She murmured some few words which he did not hear. "I am going to speak to you now," he continued, "just as though you were my own sister, have I your permission to do so, Philippa?" "Yes," she replied. "And you promise not to be angry about any thing that I may say?" "I could never be angry with you, Norman," she answered.