"Ah, you've said it," he said joyfully, slipping his arm round her waist. "You have said, 'yes.'" "Ah! perhaps I did not mean it," she answered coquettishly. "I don't care," he retorted recklessly, "you have said it, and I hold you----" "Yes you do," she murmured with a smile. "To your word," he finished gaily. "Victoria, say you love me a little." "No, I can't say that." His face whitened, and a pained look came into his eyes, but she laid her head on his shoulder, and looking up, whispered softly: "Because I love you a great deal." "My darling." He bent down and kissed her fondly, and then--then--ah, who can repeat truly the conversation of lovers, who can write down coldly all the fond, foolish words, the tender endearments, that go to make up the happy time that succeeds the little word "yes?" The music in the distance ceased, there was the noise of approaching feet, and Victoria sprang to her feet quickly. "We must go back to the ball-room, Mr. Macjean." "Mr. Macjean!" "Well, then, 'Angus.'" "Ah, that's much better," he said gaily, giving her his arm. "You are no doubt engaged for the next dance, but I cannot give you up so soon. Now I've got you I'll keep you for ever." "Ever's a long time," laughed Victoria, whose face was beaming with smiles, as she looked at her handsome young lover walking so proudly beside her. "It won't be long enough for me," he said fondly, and they passed into the brilliant ball-room at peace with themselves and the world. On the way they met Eustace, who glanced keenly at both of them, and then held out his hands with a laugh. "I congratulate you both," he said, smiling; "you will both be happy--till you get tired of one another." "That horrid man," said Victoria with a shiver as he passed onward. "We will never get tired, Mr.--I mean Angus?" "Never," he whispered fervently. There's nothing half so sweet in life as love's young dream, but what a pity there should be any awakening. CHAPTER XXXIII. PALLIDA MORS. "He comes unsought To young and old, Can ne'er be bought By tears or gold, He buries us all in the churchyard's mould. "Oh, man, why weep? His gifts are blest, He brings us sleep, He gives us rest. And the world's care ceases upon his breast. "Receive, if wise, Affliction's rod, The body lies Beneath the sod, But the soul we love is at home with God."