She looked up, and, meeting his ardent glance, dropped her eyes until the long, curling lashes hid them from view. A scarlet banner fluttered into her cheeks like a danger signal. "I have been getting my fortune told--there!" said she, laughing. "Whew!" said Mr. Dane in profound surprise. "Getting your fortune told! And by whom, may I ask?" "Oh, by a horrid old crone who stepped into my path on my way here and demanded a piece of silver and wished to foretell my future. Of course, I do not believe in such things at all, but I humored the poor old soul just for fun, you know, and a dreadful prediction she gave me for my money." "Let me hear it," said Leslie Dane, smiling. Bonnibel recounted the words and gestures of the old sibyl with patient exactness and inimitable mimicry to her interested listener. "It was Wild Madge, no doubt," said he, when she had finished. "I have seen her several times on the shore, and I made quite an effective picture of her once, though I dare say the old witch would want to murder me if she knew it. The gossips hereabouts assert that she can read the future very truly." "You do not believe it--do you?" asked she, looking up with a gleam of something like dread in her beautiful blue orbs. "Believe it--of course not," said he, contemptuously. "There were but two things she told you that I place any faith in." "What are they?" she questioned, anxiously. "I believe you will be an old man's darling, for I know you are that already. Your Uncle Francis loves the very ground you walk upon, to use a homely expression, and, Bonnibel," he paused, his voice lingering over the sound of her name with inexpressible tenderness. "Well?" she said, looking up with an innocent inquiry in her eyes. "And, Bonnibel--forgive my daring, little one--I believe you will be a young man's bride if you will let me make you such." They were spoken--words that had been trembling on his lips all these summer months, in which Bonnibel Vere had grown dearer to him than his own life--the words that would seal his fate! He looked at her imploringly, but her face was turned away, and she was trailing one white ungloved hand idly through the blue water. "Perhaps I am presumptuous in speaking such words to you, little one," he continued, gently. "I am but a poor artist, with fame and fortune yet to win, and the world says that you will be your uncle's heiress. Yet I have dared to love you, Bonnibel--who could see you and not love you? Are you very angry with me, darling?" Still no answer from the silent girl before him. She kept her sweet face turned away from his gaze, and continued to play with the water as though indifferent to his words. He went on patiently, his full, manly voice freighted with deep emotion: "I am as proud as you in my way. Bonnibel, I do not ask to claim you now in my struggle with the world. I only ask you to remember me, and that when fame and fortune are both conquered, I may return to lay them at your feet."